


A Tale as Old as Time

by houdini74



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blow Jobs, Introspection, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:33:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23376187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houdini74/pseuds/houdini74
Summary: When a business arrangement requires his mom to spend a year at the remote Rose Manor, Patrick volunteers to take her place. Little does he know that Rose Manor, and its mysterious resident, will change his life in ways he could never imagine. An AU inspired by Beauty and the Beast.This work is complete, new chapters will be posted every morning.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 413
Kudos: 369





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [this_is_not_nothing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing/gifts).



> For TINN, I hope this lands somewhere near the vicinity of what you were hoping for from a Beauty and the Beast AU, I’m not very good at coloring in the lines. This is more of a modern interpretation than a true crossover, inspired by Disney and Robin McKinley’s Beauty.

“They did what?”

Patrick stares at his mom in disbelief. 

“It’s just for a year, it will be fine.” She leans across his desk to pat his arm. She smiles, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks tired, he can see the crease she gets between her eyes when she’s been staring at her computer screen for too long.

“It’s not fine. They can’t do this. What about dad? You’re just going to leave for a year?” He can hear his voice getting high and pitchy, but he doesn’t care. That she’s even entertaining this idea is preposterous, no matter when the agreement says.

“Patrick.” His mom’s voice is firm. “I don’t have a choice.” He’s not sure how she can sit there and make him seem like the unreasonable one, when she’s suggesting that she’s just going to disappear for an entire year.

“There has to be another way.” He reaches across the desk and tugs the papers from her hands. She lets go of the contract reluctantly, like she doesn’t want him to get any further involved than he already is, as though he’s just going to let her honor this agreement without fighting to find a way out of it. He flips to the relevant section, his mom has circled it in pink highlighter.

_”...in exchange for the investment in Marrick Enterprises, the company agrees to assign a representative to work exclusively for Rose Corp for the period of one year, beginning June 1, 2020. The representative shall live, all expenses paid, at Rose Manor and will not leave that location during that time._

“This can’t possibly be legal.” Of course, Rose Corp would assume his mom would just drop everything to go to some remote location. And for an entire year. It wasn’t right. 

“Do you really want to fight them in court? They’ll crush us.” He and his mom had started selling products online five years ago working out of his mom’s basement. Now, they had three locations, but if they wanted to get bigger, they needed an investor. They had been working on the deal with Rose Corp for six months, the final papers had been delivered yesterday. 

“Okay, but it doesn’t say it has to be you.” He looks at her defiantly before dropping his eyes back to read the clause again. Not signing will mean years of work would be lost and they might never find another investor. But this is beyond unreasonable. He frowns at his mom from across the desk. She smiles back at him grimly.

“Well, who else? I’m not just going to assign one of our staff to this.” She’s right, of course. It’s the only logical choice. 

“I’ll go.” The words are out before he can think about them. He doesn’t want to go, he doesn’t want to give into this whim of the Rose family, but he can’t let his mom go; his dad, and the company, need her. His resentment simmers to the surface, the tiniest thread of excitement burns beneath it.

“Patrick, you can’t go. You and Rachel are getting married this fall.” Oh. Oh yeah, the wedding. The familiar panic rises inside him. Perhaps there’s an unexpected benefit to spending a year at Rose Manor. This might be the perfect excuse.

“Well, we’re not getting married without you, so the wedding can’t go ahead now.” Rachel is going to kill him. She’s going to murder him in his sleep and then his mom will have to go to Rose Manor anyway.

He stares at his mom stubbornly until he sees her give in. “Are you sure?” The question steadies his resolve that he’s doing the right thing. He can tell his mom doesn’t want to go, but he knows she would if it’s the only option for the company. 

“Yeah.” He nods. It’s the right thing to do. Everyone will expect that he would do this for his mom. He lets his resentment at the Rose family rise to the surface, using it to blot out his other feelings. “I’m sure.”

“Okay.” His mom sighs and reaches across the desk to squeeze his hand. “Let’s get this agreement signed. They’re sending a car on Monday.” 

Monday. It’s five days away. He has five days to tie up his life for a year. To talk to Rachel, to postpone the wedding, to pack his things, to tell their vendors. What has he done? Before he can get too in his head about it, his mom stands up and wraps him in a hug. “Thank you, honey.”

He holds her as tightly as he can, wanting to cling to one last moment of normalcy before he casts himself into the tumult of the next few days. 

***

“I don’t understand why you’re doing this.” Rachel sits on the end of the bed, watching as he packs his clothes in a suitcase.

“I told you, we had no choice.” He tries to keep his voice as even as possible. They’ve been over and over this and each of the previous conversations has ended in either tears or shouting. He doesn’t think he has it in him to work through another round of recriminations.

“I just don’t understand why it has to be you.” Rachel’s voice is frustrated. “We’re supposed to be getting married.” He tries to ignore the guilt that rises inside him at the words.

“There wasn’t anyone else.” He sets a pile of sweaters on the bed and reaches for his last ounce of patience. “And I couldn’t let my mom go.” 

“I know.” Rachel plays with the zipper on the suitcase, her long hair falling forward to hide her face. He turns to kneel in front of her, putting his hands on her knees. She looks small and vulnerable, so different from her usual feisty self. It makes his heart ache. “What if this changes things between us?”

“Rach…” He tucks her hair behind one ear and looks up at her. “We’ve been together for ten years. We can do this.”

“Yeah.” Her smile is watery, but she squeezes his hand. He leans up to kiss her softly before rising to his feet.

“The car is coming first thing tomorrow. I know I’m forgetting something.” He scans the room, trying to think of all the things he might want for the next year. He adds his laptop and the book he’s reading to the suitcase. How do you pack for a year when you don’t know where you’re going? Surely the Roses will have all the latest amenities. He zips the suitcase shut and sets it by the door before sitting beside Rachel on the bed. He wraps his arms around her and she tucks herself under his chin, her tiny frame snug against his. “It’s just a year. There’s Skype and texts and emails. I’ll be back before you know it.” Rachel nods against his chest, but doesn’t say anything. He squeezes her gently. “If we get through this, then we’ll know we can make it through anything.”

***

The next morning, Patrick slips out of bed at six o’clock. He puts on the coffee for Rachel and gets ready the way he usually would, reading the headlines on his tablet as he chokes down his toast. His original excitement has worn off, leaving behind a mix of anxiety and resentment. Why had he agreed to do this? They should have talked to their lawyer. They should have at least tried. He knows his mom is right, Rose Corp eats companies like theirs for breakfast. Still, he wishes they’d found another way.

It’s a quarter to eight when he goes back into the bedroom to kiss Rachel goodbye. She’s awake, sitting upright against the headboard, her arms wrapped around her knees. She’s wearing one of his old Blue Jays shirts, the large size makes her look even smaller. He sits on the edge of the bed beside her and she shifts so she can rest her head on his shoulder. “Text me when you get there.”

“I will.” He presses a kiss to her forehead and then to her lips as she looks up at him. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” She cuddles close to him and he rests his cheek on her hair. “You won’t even have time to miss me.”

She gives a small shove against his chest. “Will too.” At last there’s a tiny smile flickering on her lips. 

Patrick gives her one last kiss before he gathers up his bag and takes the elevator to the lobby. He’ll miss Rachel, he knows he will. He repeats the words to himself over and over as he tries to push away the growing sense of relief he feels at leaving her behind.

The car is waiting for him outside the lobby doors. A long black SUV, with tinted windows and enough chrome that he knows that it costs more than his annual salary. When he opens the door of his building, the driver pops out of nowhere, beaming beneath his bristly black moustache.

“You must be Patrick!” He nods, slightly overwhelmed at the enthusiasm. “My name is Ray and it is my pleasure to escort you to Rose Manor today.” Before he can respond, Ray places his bags in the back of the SUV and holds open the rear passenger door. 

It’s weird. He hesitates as Ray nods and smiles at him. Finally, he steps into the car and Ray closes the door gently behind him. It might be the largest passenger vehicle he’s ever been in. His parents had an RV that had a smaller interior than this SUV. Two white leather seats sit towards the back of the space, with a minibar and TV screen on either side. At the front, the window that divides the space from the driver is halfway down. He can hear music coming from the stereo, after a few seconds he identifies a Disney show tune from one of the animated movies that his cousin’s kids watch on a nonstop loop whenever he visits.

_Be our guest_  
_Be our guest_  
_Be our guest_

The words play over and over again, as though they’re foreshadowing his day. Before he can dwell on it, Ray gets into the driver’s seat and turns to look at him.

“Window up or window down?”

“Oh, down, I think.” It seems rude to sit by himself in the back of the huge vehicle. Ray beams at him and puts the car in gear. “Have you...have you worked for the Rose family for very long?”

Ray turns out of his neighbourhood onto the highway. Patrick smiles wistfully to himself as they pass the entrance to his parents’ cul-de-sac. “Oh yes. I have been on retainer with the Roses for quite some time. Mostly I drive Mrs Rose to her galas and charity events. You’re very lucky that I was able to drive you today, but they insisted.” 

“I see.” He barely has time to respond before Ray is talking again.

“You’re only the second person I’ve taken to Rose Manor. There was that young man six months ago, but he barely stayed overnight.” Rays tsks dismissively. “Such an unpleasant man with his camera and his ragged clothes. And so rude.” Ray looks up at him in the mirror. “Not like you, I can tell you’re very nice.

“Uh, thanks.” He’s already regretting his choice to travel with the window down. “How, uh, long will it take to get there?”

“Oh, at least four hours. Four and a half? But there are some lovely things to see along the way. I will be sure to give you the full tour as we go. Did you know that we will drive right by the world’s largest rocking horse?”

“No. I did not.”

“Yes, and Santa’s Village.”

“Ah.” Desperate to distract Ray from four hours of chatter about small town museums and attractions, he asks the question that’s been nagging at him ever since he agreed to this mess. “Does the Rose family live at Rose Manor, then?”

“Oh no. No, no. Mr and Mrs Rose live in the city. When they’re not traveling, of course.” His heart sinks at the thought that he might be living in an empty house by himself as Ray continues. “No one knows who lives there. Someone does. Twyla, who lives in the town, says there are always deliveries, but no one has ever been inside.”

“Oh.” Ray stays remarkably silent as Patrick turns over that piece of information in his mind. Perhaps his job will be to babysit the Roses’ agoraphobic aunt or a houseful of hairless cats. He shakes off the notion that something more sinister is going on. Surely if the Roses were serial killers he would have heard rumors at least?

He’s only met Johnny Rose once, at the pitch meeting for their investment proposal. He remembers a silver-haired, affable man, who had conducted the remainder of the negotiations through his lawyers. He tries to think about what else he knows about the Rose family. He’s seen Mrs Rose on the cover of the soap opera magazines in the grocery store checkout and he thinks there are at least two Rose children, who are about his age. Vaguely, he recalls a news story about an international incident and an escape from the Norwegian consulate. 

“What are the Roses like?”

“Well. They’re rich. Not like you and me.” Ray glances at him in the mirror again. “Mr Rose likes to pretend he’s just like us, you know?” He doesn’t, really, but he lets Ray continue without interrupting, wanting to hear as many details as possible. “He’s very successful, but he’s not someone that I personally would take advice from. He only has the one successful business.” Ray pauses and Patrick tries to process his answer. “He’s very well dressed though.”

“And you have other businesses?”

“Oh yes. My newest endeavor is closet organization. Are you familiar with the benefits of a well-organized closet, Patrick?” 

“I, uh, I’m not sure.” Ray pulls a business card from a clip by the steering wheel and passes it back to him **Ray Butani Real Estate, Travel, Photography, Closet Organization** “Thanks.” He searches for a place to put it before tucking it into his pocket. “And Mrs Rose?”

“Mrs Rose wants to make sure we all know that she’s nothing like us.” Ray looks at him knowingly in the rearview mirror. “But just like you and I, she wasn’t allowed into Tom Hanks and Rita Wilson’s Christmas party.”

“Hmm.” He turns to look out the window. The road snakes through a series of small lakes; trees line the sides of the highway. When he’d gotten into the car, he’d had a vague idea that he could follow their route, to memorize it in case he needed to retrace his steps. But he realizes that he has no idea where they are. The line of trees on the side of the road is endless, broken only by the occasional wetland or strip of farmland. 

The remoteness of this place sinks in and for the first time he’s truly angry. How dare the Roses take advantage of him in this way? Who gave them the right to disrupt his life like this? _You did, when you signed the agreement._ He ignores the voice in his head, staring petulantly out the window.

He watches the trees flash by on the side of the road. Ray has stopped talking for the moment, seemingly content to hum along with the song on the car stereo. It’s the same song that was playing when he got into the car. Maybe it’s the only song?

_Be our guest_  
_Be our guest_  
_Be our guest_

A chill runs down his spine as the words take on a more sinister meaning. Up ahead, a large sign graces the side of the road.

**Welcome to Schitt’s Creek**  
**Where everyone fits in**

His jaw drops as he takes in the mural. Before he can point it out to Ray, the car is slowing as Ray puts on his signal and turns off of the main highway. The trees close in even more closely over the laneway. It’s shady and he can see the sun dancing on the leaves, well above the car. It feels like they’ve stepped across a boundary into another world, as though they’re entering a place beyond the reach of modern headlines and technology.

He cranes his neck to try to look ahead, but the road is winding. After about ten minutes, the trees open up and the laneway spills into a circular driveway in front of a large house. House is too small of a word. Mansion, or even castle, might be a better fit. It has at least three floors and two wings that rise above him, granite blocks giving a sense of solidity and foreboding. 

Patrick presses against the car window, trying to take in the entirety of the house. Now that he can see it more clearly, he can see that the house is older than he’d thought. Ivy crawls up one side and a three-car garage has been added more recently to one side. Gothic style windows and a turret break up the roof-line, giving the building a sombre feel. 

Suddenly, he’s grateful for the sunny day. He shivers again, trying to imagine what this house would be like in the winter or even in the rain. It looms. Even with the sunshine lighting up the detailing of roses above the front door, the house towers over him like it could roll over and crush him in his sleep. He swallows roughly as Ray brings the car to a precise stop in front of the main doors.

He’s still staring at the house as Ray turns off the car and pops out to hold Patrick’s door open for him. The house feels even bigger without the shell of the car to protect him. Ray sets his bag beside him and holds out his hand. “It was nice to meet you, Patrick.”

“Wait, you’re, uh, you’re not coming in?”

“Oh no. I never come inside.” With that, Ray nods the upper half of his body at him and bounces away to the other side of the SUV. The car drives away and Patrick is alone.


	2. Chapter 2

A set of stone steps rises from the gravel driveway. The stone is worn and the stair curves in a pleasing semicircle, framing a solid oak door. Stone pillars rise on each side of the door, designed to impress. Patrick looks back over his shoulder, he can just see the car disappearing down the tree-lined driveway. A feeling of trepidation settles into his stomach. He squares his shoulders and picks up his bag, slowly climbing the stairs to the door.

The double doors rise above his head. There’s no bell, so he knocks, softly at first and then more loudly when there’s no answer. The house remains solidly silent in front of him. He turns to look behind him. From the top of the stairs, he can just see beyond the trees, a glimpse of the view that must be available from the top floors of the house. He turns back to knock again, only to find that the door is now ajar. 

“Hello?” He pushes the door and it swings wide. He steps into a large foyer. White marble tiles line the floor. A grand marble staircase sweeps up the back of the room, splitting in two to access both wings of the house. The largest family portrait he’s ever seen hangs above the stairs. How something so perfectly posed still feels so cold is a mystery best left to another time. He takes half a dozen steps sideways, his skin crawling as the older woman’s eyes seem to follow him. He looks around, the hallways stretch away in each direction to the left and right of him, covered in a lush, black carpet that matches the dark wood of the doorways. “Is anyone here?”

There’s no response. The house is quiet in that way that empty houses are, with a stillness that lets him know that he’s alone. He sets down his suitcase and turns in a slow circle, looking for some sign that he’s expected. He shivers at a sudden chill, not sure if the temperature has dropped or if it’s just a reaction to this strange, stark space. His gaze catches on a bulging envelope sitting on top of a small table to one side of the door. His name is written in a flowing script across the front.

He opens the envelope to find a handwritten letter and a key fob.

_Patrick,_

_I’m unable to greet you. You will find your room on the second floor, last door in the right-hand corridor. Make yourself at home. You may use any room that the enclosed key fob will open. There is a library on the ground floor where you will find details of your work while you are here. Likewise, the kitchen is available, help yourself to any food. I invite you to dine with me tomorrow evening at seven o’clock in the formal dining room._

_The wifi password is Givenchy17_

_David Rose_

Beneath David’s signature is a tiny, stylized drawing of a rose.

Patrick looks at the key fob. It looks like every other key fob he’s ever seen. On the back, there’s the same drawing of a rose as David had sketched onto his note. “Huh.” The word echoes off the marble floor, making him feel even more alone. With a shrug, he picks up his things and trudges up the stairs. The woman’s eyes in the portrait follow him the entire way.

Outside the right door, when he swipes the key fob over the lock, the door opens immediately. It’s more of a suite than a room. He steps into a small sitting area, carrying his suitcase into the bedroom, a door on the other side leads to an ensuite bathroom. He pulls open the curtains, letting the sunlight stream inside. The room glows in the sunlight, the cream-colored wallpaper is accented by tiny embossed gold roses. For the first time since he’s come into this house, he feels warm. 

Leaving his bag on the bed, he opens the French doors in the sitting room and steps out onto the balcony. As he’d suspected, he’s high enough up that he can look out over the rolling forest and fields. But no matter how hard he looks, he can’t see any sign of another building anywhere on the horizon. Below, he can see a vegetable garden, the neat rows perfectly aligned. He can hear music playing, it’s faint, but he can just make out a few words.

_...a tale as old as time…_

He leans over the railing, trying to see if there’s an open window that the music might be coming from but every window is closed. 

He leaves the doors open to let in some sunshine and fresh air. The room is beautiful, even if it’s lacking in personality. He sighs. This is his home for the next year. He sinks onto the sofa and puts his head in his hands as the magnitude of his decision to come here washes over him. Around him, the house makes a sympathetic sound. 

Wait, what?

He lifts his head to listen, but there’s nothing except the same resounding silence that has accompanied him since he stepped foot inside the front door. A crushing loneliness teases at the edge of his consciousness. He shakes his head. He can’t give it to that now. If he lets himself fall apart he might never come back from it.

He could unpack, but he gives into his curiosity instead and decides to explore instead. Tucking his phone in his front pocket, he picks up the key fob and heads back into the hall, shutting the bedroom door softly behind him.

His key fob opens all the doors along the hallway, revealing a series of suites similar to his own. There’s no sign that any of the rooms have ever been slept in, each one is as pristine as the last. After looking at the third identical room in a row, he gives up and goes downstairs. 

At the bottom of the stairs, he hesitates, trying to choose a direction. In the far distance, he hears a sound. Stopping to listen, he can hear faint laughter coming from the hallway on his left. He hurries down the corridor, eager to find someone to answer his questions. At very least, he’d welcome another person to talk to.

The lights come on in the hallway as he walks, undoubtedly triggered by a sensor. The lights cast a warm glow over the white walls, softening the contrast between the walls and the black floor and doors. A door at the end of the hall is open, through the gap, he can see a large commercial kitchen. Another burst of laughter greets him, and he pushes the door fully open, smiling in anticipation.

The room is empty.

Bright and sunny, large windows fill the space over an industrial size sink looking out to the same vegetable garden he had seen from his room. A long table that could double as a work bench fills the far end of the space, along one wall a rack of shiny copper pans hang over a gas stove. He spins in a small circle, searching for any sign of the people he’d expected to find. 

“Hello?” His voice fills the corners of the room, but there’s no reply. 

A pot sits on the stove. He lifts the lid and the rich smell of homemade chicken soup wafts over him. He frowns to himself. Someone made this soup. On the counter next to the stove, a loaf of homemade bread sits on a cutting board. He touches the top. It’s still warm from the oven. 

“Is anyone here?”

His stomach growls and remembers David’s instructions to help himself to the food in the kitchen. The soup smells delicious. If anyone complains, he’ll make them his mom’s tomato soup in exchange. Bowls are stacked in an open cupboard beside the stove. Each one is black and white, with a design of stylized roses around the rim. He fills a bowl and cuts a slice of bread to go with it.

He sits at the table and the house settles around him. The soup tastes as good as it smells, it’s rich and filling. He’s exhausted, his body feels heavy and all he wants to do is lay his head on the table for a nap. The last five days had been a whirlwind of packing and arrangements and goodbyes; the sudden change of pace is a shock to his system.

If Rachel were here, she’d make him laugh as they explored every nook and cranny of the large house together. She’s always been adventurous when he was more reserved, she pushed him out of his comfort zone. He smiles at the thought, pushing away the other parts of their relationship that don’t work, to think about the part that makes him happy. He misses her. He knows she’ll be at work, so he sends a text instead of calling.

**Patrick:** Made it safe and sound. Nice house. Have yet to meet anyone.  
**Rachel:** There’s no one there?  
**Patrick:** No, just a note  
**Rachel:** Weird  
**Patrick:** Right?  
**Rachel:** Keep in touch, I love you  
**Patrick:** I love you too

A cool draft brushes through the kitchen, making him shiver despite the sun streaming through the windows. He gets up to wash his dishes at the sink, jumping slightly as the sprinklers come on in the garden outside. The sunlight catches in the water droplets, making rainbows dance in the air. 

He puts the dishes back where he found them. He wants to explore the rest of the house, but curiosity nags at him. He picks up his phone and calls his mom.

“Patrick. Are you okay? Did you make it okay?” He can hear the worry that his mom is trying to hide.

“I’m fine. There’s no one here, but otherwise everything is fine.” He tries to laugh off his anxiety at the strange situation.

“How strange.” He can tell she’s turning the information over in her mind, looking for a way to help.

“Yeah, listen. In all your dealings with the Roses, did they ever mention a ‘David Rose’?”

There’s a long pause as she thinks it over. “I don’t think so...no, wait.” He can hear the tap of her fingers on the keyboard as she looks through her computer files. “There was one thing...here it is, in the investment agreement.” She reads a passage aloud.

_”In the event that the terms of David Rose’s inheritance are met, section 14.1 of this agreement shall become null and void.”_

The room is cold now and he shivers despite the bright sunshine. “Mom? What’s section 14.1?” He asks the question, but he knows, somehow, he already knows. 

She inhales sharply before she answers. “It’s the section that talks about having someone spend a year at Rose Manor.” There’s a long silence before she asks what they’re both thinking. “What does it mean?”

“I have no idea.” David Rose is clearly the linchpin to this entire mystery. Perhaps he’ll get some answers when he meets him for dinner tomorrow night.

After assuring his mom that everything is fine and that he’ll look after himself and call again soon, he ends the call and leans against the counter, chewing on his bottom lip. Who is David Rose? How do all these pieces fit together? And why the hell is he here, anyway? The kitchen offers no answers. Maybe exploring the rest of the house will help.

He walks back down the hall. As before, the lights turn on as he moves, leaving him in his own little bubble of light. He tries the doors as he passes, revealing a dining room, a games room, two sitting rooms, and a theater. Each room is pristine, untouched, with no evidence that anyone had ever been inside. 

The last door in this wing opens into a gym. It’s better equipped than the gym he goes to in the city and on the other side of the room he can see a sauna and beyond that, an indoor pool. He rolls his shoulders. Maybe later. It would be good to work out some of his tension from the day. He yawns. Maybe he’ll lie down for a bit before he does anything else.

Back in his room, he lies down on the bed and googles David Rose. There’s nothing. He tries every combination of search terms he can think of, but even though it reveals photos of the other members of the Rose family, any search for David Rose gives zero results. If it wasn’t for the name on the note, he would say that David Rose didn’t exist. 

The house feels different from his apartment in the city. It’s quiet without the sounds of the traffic or the sound of his upstairs neighbor’s footsteps. And it’s still, as though he’s the only one around for miles. Putting the phone down, he wraps the bedspread around himself. Distantly, he can hear a muffled banging sound, as though someone is hanging pictures. Before he can think about what it means, he drifts into an uneasy sleep, the mystery of David Rose distracting him from his loneliness and resentment. 

_...it’s his birthday..._  
_...lights dance through the enormous room..._  
_...people are laughing and talking over the music, but he stands alone in the corner..._  
_...a camera flashes and spots blur his vision..._  
_...a cool voice whispers in his ear, “I think you’re brave”..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but it comes with a fun map:  
>   
> 


	3. Chapter 3

When Patrick wakes up, the sun is streaming through his window and he can hear birds singing in the trees outside. He stretches, chasing away the last remnants of the strange dream. The party was like something from a movie. His own birthdays ran more to baseball games and backyard barbeques, not elegant cocktail parties. Scrubbing his hands over his face, he reaches for his phone. It’s just past six o’clock, but he’s restless. He pulls on his clothes. He wants to find the library today. Maybe he can find more clues about why he’s here.

In the kitchen, there’s a pot of freshly brewed coffee. He helps himself to a cup and looks in the cupboards for breakfast, pulling out a box of oatmeal. The soup and bread from last night have been tidied away, when he opens the fridge for some milk, the soup pot sits on the middle shelf. 

He sips his coffee and stirs his oatmeal on the stove; the kitchen feels warm and friendly and it’s the only room where he’s seen even the slightest sign that there might be another person in the house. He’s tempted to stay here until someone shows up, but his curiosity about the library gets the better of him.

He finishes his oatmeal and tidies away the dishes. The library must be in the opposite wing of the house from this one. Key fob in hand, he crosses through the foyer to the other side of the house.

This hallway is identical to the one on the other side. Black wooden doorways line both sides of the hall and the lights switch on automatically, as though the house is anticipating his presence. The first two doors reveal a music room and a large ballroom. As he closes the last door, he thinks he hears the same burst of laughter from the day before in the kitchen, but when he stops to listen, there’s nothing. 

Large double doors wait for him at the end of the hall. He taps his key fob and the doors swing open, revealing the library beyond. 

He steps inside. The room is huge, with floor to ceiling bookshelves rising two stories to line every wall except where large windows look out over the back lawn. A cluster of armchairs and a table made from a light-colored wood sit in the middle of the room. Books cover every surface. Stacks of them teeter on the table and on each of the chairs, save one. Across the floor, the piles lean against each other like a dusty game of horizontal Jenga. More volumes jam each of the shelves, pushed in at differing angles until every inch of the room is filled. 

He remembers his summer job in university, when his English professor had hired him to organize and inventory his library. This reminds him of that, but much, much worse. 

A laptop sits at one end of the table, a white envelope with his name on it rests on the keyboard. He reaches for the letter but before he can open it a woman’s voice makes him jump.

“Hello and welcome to the library.” The voice is friendly, but there’s a sardonic edge to it. He scans the room, but there’s no one. He hasn’t even been here for 24 hours. Surely that’s much too short an amount of time for him to be hallucinating imaginary friends?

“That’s not fair, Stevie.” A second woman interjects. Her voice is higher than the first woman’s, with a lilt that makes him think of the reality TV shows Rachel likes to watch. “I wanted to welcome him to the library.” 

“Uh, is someone there?” Short of hiding beneath the table or crouching behind one of the chairs, there’s nowhere for someone to hide without climbing over the stacks of books. Feeling ridiculous, he bends down to look under the table, just in case. 

“Well, if you want to welcome him, Alexis, why didn’t you say something?” Stevie sounds irritated now, Patrick can almost picture the scowl that accompanies her words.

“I did say something, like, the last time someone was here, and you did the same thing.” Alexis makes a frustrated noise that makes Patrick chuckle to himself. He doesn’t understand what’s going on, but this is the most entertaining thing to happen since he’s been here.

“Well, no one’s stopping you now.” Stevie is definitely put out, Patrick imagines her crossing her arms in disgust.

“Hmmpf.” Patrick can hear the pout in Alexis’s voice. 

Now that they’re done bickering, maybe he can get some answers. “Um. Hi. I don’t know who you are or if you’re even real, but can one of you tell me what’s going on?”

“See, Stevie, now you’ve confused him. Patrick, this is the library.” Alexis offers the explanation matter-of-factly, in a tone that suggests there shouldn’t be any follow-up questions.

This is not going well. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “And who are you?” 

“Oh!” The woman laughs, it’s the same sound he heard moments ago in the ballroom and before that in the kitchen. “I am Alexis and this is Stevie.”

“Hey.” Even in the single word, he can sense the reluctance from the other woman. 

“Um. I’m Patrick?” That he makes it a question reflects the surreal circumstances he finds himself in.

“We know who you are, silly.” Alexis chirps at his gleefully. “We know all about you.”

Nothing about that response comforts him. Or gives him any answers. “Okay. And you are…” Trying to get them to answer direct questions is like playing twenty questions with a three-year-old. Slowly but surely he’s getting closer to wrestling some answers out of the two of them.

“We’re the AIs that run the house, silly.” Alexis laughs delightedly, as though nothing could be more obvious. The responsiveness of the house makes sense. Of course the Roses would have the latest technology.

“We are the house, actually.” Stevie interrupts Alexis. “Everything you see, it’s all us.” 

“The doors? The lights? The music?” 

“Us, us, us.” Knowing that the house is responding to his presence is strangely reassuring. Better than the spooky alternatives that had been going through his mind, anyway 

“The food in the kitchen?” Could AIs prepare food? Did the house have a replicator, like on Star Trek?

“Uh...no.” Both the AIs are silent for a long minute. “But we’re going to have so much fun now that you’re here, Patrick.” There’s a forced cheerfulness to her voice now.

“So you can see everything that goes on in every room?” That the AIs could watch him sleeping makes him uneasy, even if they were just computer avatars.

There’s a pause and he almost thinks he can hear them whispering to each other before Stevie replies. “Not exactly. We can’t be in the guest rooms unless you invite us in. But all you have to do is say our names at any time.”

He remembers the feeling from the night before as the house had settled around him. “Okay, but it felt like the house responded to me when I was in my room last night?”

“Um, sometimes the house anticipates things. But that’s not the same as us being there uninvited.” 

“That would be rude.” It’s Alexis’s turn to interrupt. “So we don’t go into the guest rooms. And David doesn’t allow us in his rooms. Not since...before.” Alexis trails off. 

“Before you got caught spying, you mean.” Stevie says accusingly.

“I wasn’t spying, I was making sure David was okay. It’s not my fault he was...busy.” Alexis makes it sound like David is the one who should be embarrassed.

“It was one in the morning, what did you think he was doing?” Stevie’s question is pointed and Patrick can sense the bones of an old argument that’s never been laid to rest.

“Ugh, Stevie!” The flounce in Alexis’s voice is so pronounced, it almost comes with an over the shoulder hair flick.

“Anyway, Patrick, we’re so glad you’re here. We don’t get many visitors. Not anymore.” Stevie sounds like she prefers it that way. 

“Why are you telling me this now? Why not yesterday?” Where were Alexis and Stevie when he’d been wandering around the house by himself? 

“We needed to see what kind of person you were. But now we can tell you’re just a cute little button.” For some reason, he has a mental image of someone booping him on the nose. “We’re just so excited for you to meet David.”

Patrick wonders if David feels the same way. It’s not like David has been clamouring to meet him or even to welcome him to this house, beyond the stilted note he’d left for Patrick to find. “Why are there two of you?” Surely the house doesn’t need two different AIs to operate. 

“Why shouldn’t there be two of us?” Stevie sounds offended. He bites back his next question about why they’ve been programmed to bicker all the time. 

“No reason, two of you is great.” As if this situation wasn’t strange enough, he’s trapped in a sentient house with a pair of touchy AIs. “I have some questions.”

“And we would love to answer those questions. Right, Stevie?” 

“Sure. It’s not like I have anything better to do.” 

“Uh, what...how...why is David here?” He can hear the whispering again, just at the edge of his hearing. Why a pair of digital AIs would need to whisper is beyond him, but after a moment, Stevie responds.

“We’re not allowed to talk about David.” Stevie’s voice is firm but regretful. Patrick doesn’t know if he can persuade the AIs to change their minds, but he suspects it’s a lost cause.

Frustrated, he paces as far as he can across the library, which in this case is about six feet in either direction. He’d been hoping he might finally get some answers about David Rose and why he was here. “Not ever?”

“We can talk about him, we just can’t answer your questions.” 

“So if I snuck up on you and listened outside the door?” Maybe he can trick the AIs into telling him about David.

“Don’t be silly, you can’t sneak up on us.” Alexis laughs delightedly, like he’s told a fantastic joke. 

“Great.” Surely there must be a way to find out more about David Rose. “Uh, do you know why I’m here?”

“Of course!” Alexis responds happily, as though she’s glad for a question she can answer.

“And…?” Trying to pin Alexis down was like wrestling with a butterfly.

“And it’s probably easier if you just read the letter David left you.”

Right. The note. He picks up the envelope and pulls out the piece of paper inside. It’s the same thick, buttery paper as the note from yesterday, it feels soft beneath his fingers.

_Patrick,_

_If you’ve made it to the library, you’ve probably met Stevie and Alexis. You should probably ignore most of what they have to say. Especially anything they say about me. I wanted to disable them, but you will need them for your work._

_Your job is to catalog the library. As you do that, please go through each volume and remove any items that may be tucked inside the books._

_David Rose_

Patrick looks up from the letter. There must be thousands of books in the library, many of them are old, with nearly identical bindings. At least he won’t have to worry that he won’t have enough to do. 

“He told you not to trust us, didn’t he?” He wonders how long it will be before having Stevie’s voice come out of nowhere doesn’t make him jump.

“Ugh, David.” Alexis chimes in, as if David was here to hear her.

Patrick flips on the computer. The only icon is a white rose helpfully labelled ‘Library Catalog.’ He opens it to find a standard database program. He scans the room. He will have to organize the piles of books on the floor and tables before he does anything else. He tries to do a quick count, but loses track after he gets to two hundred. He needs more space.

“Uh, hello? Stevie? Alexis?” It feels strange to be talking to thin air.

“Yes, button?” He flinches when Alexis responds, even though he was expecting it.

He ignores the pet name, some instinct telling him that protesting will only make Alexis use the name even more. “Is there another room nearby that I could use?”

“There’s an office through that door behind you.” He turns to see a door cut into the bookshelves at the back of the room. “You might have to tidy it up first, I don’t think anyone has used it since David’s lived here.”

“Okay.” He opens the door, by any reasonable standard, it would be considered large, but compared to the size of the library, it seems small and intimate. Other than the stacks of file folders that cover the top of the desk, the room is neat and well-organized. This will be perfect. He can work in here, one stack of books at a time, while he brings the library into order. He stacks the file folders on the credenza behind the desk and moves the laptop and the first stack of books to the desk. With a sigh, he opens the first book. He searches through the pages before he enters the information into the database. One down, somewhere between two and twenty thousand to go. His phone buzzes on the desk in front of him. Rachel.

“Hi babe, is this a good time?”

“Sure.” The tiniest bit of anxiety threads through his stomach. Suddenly, he’s all too aware of the likelihood that Stevie and Alexis are eavesdropping.

“I was just looking at the calendar, and I was thinking maybe next June for the wedding? Is that too soon after you come back?” From her tone, he can tell Rachel is still angry that he had to come here. 

The weight of the wedding planning descends on him, a reminder that he hadn’t avoided his problems, simply deferred them. “Uh, maybe July would be better?” Any additional delay feels like a gift.

“So, how is it? Any sign of the mysterious Rose family?” Rachel laughs, but it sounds forced and hollow.

“Not exactly.” Where to begin? He doodles on a piece of scrap paper as he talks. Without meaning to, he traces the rose design that exists everywhere in the house.

“Not exactly? What does that mean?” He can tell Rachel is curious, but he’s reluctant to share too many details with her, knowing that it will make her upset.

“I still haven’t met anyone, just a computer interface with way too much personality.” He smirks for a second, before realizing that he’s taunting an empty room. 

“Hmppf.” Alexis makes a scoffing noise, confirming that she and Stevie are listening in to his call.

“Oh, like Alexa? Or Siri?” Rachel sounds confused.

“More like an evil computer from a sci-fi movie.”

“That’s right.” It’s Stevie who responds this time. He grins to himself, knowing they can see him. 

“Are you going to be okay?” Rachel sounds worried now.

“It’s fine, I’m joking. Mostly.” The lights in the office flicker, a silent protest from the AIs. “Listen, Rach, I have to go. We’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. I love you, Patrick.”

“I love you too.” For the first time, he wonders if the words are a lie.

He spends the rest of the day in the library. At five o’clock, the count in the database tells him he’s entered 52 books. He sets aside a small collection of things he’s found inside the books, a recipe cut out from a newspaper, an old bookmark, a worn red ribbon. He stretches, his neck makes a cracking sound that echoes in the empty room. He has two hours before he has to meet David for dinner. His stomach swoops. He’s nervous. Why is he nervous? If anything, he should be annoyed that David forced him to come here with no explanation or greeting. 

He runs a hand through his hair. He’s covered in dust, he needs a shower. Maybe he’ll go for a quick swim in the pool to work out the kinks in his back and burn off some of the nerves he’s feeling. He tidies up the desk, leaving the newspaper cutting and the bookmarks on one corner before heading up to his room and then to the pool. 

The pool is regulation-sized. A row of French doors open out to the back garden, two of them stand ajar, casting a warm breeze through the room. He dives from the edge of the pool into the deep end, letting the warm water close over him. For the first time since he’s come here, he feels his inner turmoil subside as he lets his body take over. 

Stroke, stroke, stroke, turn.

He wishes Rachel hadn’t called. A sharp stab of guilt follows on the heels of his thoughts. Everything will be easier if he doesn’t have to examine how he feels about her, about getting married. Loving Rachel was easy until everyone’s expectations intruded. Ever since he’d proposed, it’s felt like his life is out of control. Coming here is just delaying the inevitable, at the same time, it feels like he’s found a place to hide. He does another lap, trying to get out of his head, to lose himself in the feel of the water around his body.

He can feel the rhythm loosening up the knot in his shoulders. This experience is frustrating and annoying, but maybe it won’t be that bad. It’s just an extended vacation in a really nice hotel with no one to talk to. For an entire year. He breaks out of the water and hauls himself out on the edge of the pool. As he dashes the water from his eyes, he glimpses a dark shadow slipping through the door into the house.

“Hello?”

There’s no response. After a moment, he hears the door to the pool click shut. 

Back in his room, he stands in front of his meager collection of clothes. Should he wear the blazer? Will it look like he’s trying too hard? He should wear the blazer. It will show that he’s taking this seriously. 

Maybe the AIs have some advice. “Uh, Stevie?”

“Yes, Patrick?” She responds as soon as he says her name. 

He feels foolish asking a computer for wardrobe advice. “What should I wear to dinner?”

“Oh, you should ask Alexis that question. I’m no good with fashion stuff.” 

Surely the AIs have access to the same databases and information. But he doesn’t want to get distracted by the virtual assistants’ skills and interests. “Okay. Uh, Alexis? Same question?”

“Well, button, full black-tie is, like, definitely too formal. What you want is something similar to what John Legend wore to the 2015 MTV Music Awards. You would look so cute in those leather pants.” Alexis hums appreciatively at the memory.

“Uh…” He has no idea who or what she’s talking about. “I just wanted to know if I should wear this blazer.”

“Oh. Are there any other choices?” Clearly Alexis isn’t impressed by his wardrobe. He looks at the blazer again. It’s perfectly good, he’s worn it to multiple business functions and never looked out of place.

“Not wearing the blazer?”

“Oh. Well, in that case, you should definitely wear the blazer. Yes, that’s for sure the right choice. If, you know, there aren’t any other choices.” It’s not the most ringing endorsement, but it will have to do. It’s five minutes to seven. He pulls on the blazer and heads to the dining room. 

A dark-clad figure is waiting when he arrives. The dining table stretches the length of the room. It’s set with two formal place settings, one at each end. Candles light the room, at the far end sits a man dressed in all black, his features covered by a dark hood. A dead squirrel sits on top of his head. No, that can’t be right. Inky black eyes framed by thick dark eyebrows glare out at him. Ignoring the place setting at his end of the table, Patrick approaches, a hand extended. “You must be David Rose, I’m Patrick.”

“Yes. Who else would you be?” The words are clipped, the dark eyes piercing and cold. David doesn’t move, his fingers grip the edge of the table, his knuckles white against the dark wood. Now that he’s closer, Patrick can see that what he thought was a dead animal is actually a faux-fur mohawk, like the mane of a horse. 

Uncertain, he stops halfway along the table and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Okay. Right.” Awkwardly, he turns back and takes his seat at the end of the table.

The table is large enough to seat at least twenty and several large silver candelabras are arranged between himself and David, making it almost impossible to see the other man without craning his neck. Arranged in front of his place, are a selection of silver serving dishes, each one covered with a lid. 

“Thank you, uh, for dinner?” His voice is louder than normal as he tries to fill the empty room, the statement turning to a question halfway through.

At the other end of the table, David waves a hand in the air. “It wasn’t my idea.” His voice is flat at the inconvenience of being forced to dine with Patrick.

“I see.” He doesn't, really. If it wasn’t David’s idea that he came here, then whose was it? David lifts the lid of one of the dishes at his end of the table and adds some food to his plate. Curious, Patrick picks up the lid of the dish closest to him. “Are these...are these mozzarella sticks?”

“Is there something wrong with that?” There’s a challenge to David’s voice now, as if he’s daring Patrick to give him any excuse to put an end to dinner.

“No. No. Not at all.” He adds a couple of the deep-fried appetizers to his plate. The other dishes contain lasagna and several slices of chocolate cake. A heavy silence descends. Now that he has David here, all of his questions seem inappropriate. He thinks about David’s rudeness. Fuck it. What’s David going to do, send him home? “Why are you here?”

David sets down his cutlery, they rattle sharply against his plate. “This is my house.” Patrick can hear the anger burning in David’s voice now.

“It just seems kind of remote.” Nothing about David seems well-adapted to living here. Everything about him is more suited to life in the city. 

“Maybe I like remote.” There’s a sharpness to David’s voice but Patrick doesn’t know him well enough to know if it’s always there. 

“Do you?” Patrick can’t keep the doubt out of his voice.

“What’s not to like?” There’s definitely bitterness in David’s voice now. “It’s quiet. Relaxing. No one to bother me. Mostly.” David fires the last word directly at him. 

“That must be bothersome. Forcing people to come to your estate and then having to talk to them.” 

“Well, it is.” Disdain drips from David’s voice.

“You must have other visitors, people you actually like? You know, friends, family?” Even down the length of the table, he can feel the chill. David tosses down his napkin and shoves his chair back, it scraps against the floor. 

With three long strides, David stands in front of him, his hands clenched as his dark eyes blaze down at Patrick. “You don’t know me at all.” With a slam of the dining room door, David is gone.


	4. Chapter 4

It’s been a week since Patrick arrived at Rose Manor. He hasn’t seen David since he stormed out of the dining room and his attempts to question Stevie and Alexis about him have failed. Still, he’s settled into a routine, spending most of his time working in the library, swimming in the pool or walking on the grounds. He’s coming back from a walk when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

“Hi mom.”

“Patrick, honey, how are you?”

“I’m fine. It’s fine.” They have a variation of this conversation every time they talk, but he’s not sure she’s convinced.

“Okay?” She pauses, hoping he’ll say more. When he doesn’t she continues. “I might have found something.” His mom has always been like a dog with a bone when it comes to unravelling contracts and she’s taken on the mystery of David Rose like a personal challenge. “I’ve been looking through the microfiche at the library.”

He winces, thinking of the headache-inducing machines, the flickering light illuminating poorly scanned newspapers. “And…” He sits at the base of the stairs leading to the front door. As always, it’s quiet and still. In the distance, he can hear a flock of geese on the nearby lake. 

“And until five years ago, David Rose was everywhere. Parties, drugs, society pages. But art and fashion too. And then, five years ago, he vanished. Like he never existed.”

“So what happened?” He holds his breath, eager for any scrap of information about David Rose.

“I’m not sure.” His mom stops for a second. “Patrick, there are six months worth of newspapers missing from the library’s archive. The librarian was not impressed.”

“I bet.” He teases through the implications of his mom’s information. That the Rose family has the resources and the reach to remove David’s presence or even the mere mention of his existence from the internet maybe isn’t a surprise. But what had happened five years ago? And had David been living in his house by himself all that time? “Thanks, mom.”

“I’ll keep digging. And Patrick...take care of yourself.”

“I will. Give my love to dad. And Rachel.”

Patrick ends the call, but he doesn’t go back inside. He taps his fingers on his bent knee, considering. David had been impossibly rude the night they’d met. Almost like he had been trying to be purposefully obnoxious. Maybe it’s just because he’s trapped here with no other distractions, but David is like a loose tooth, he can’t stop prodding at it, revelling in the mixture of pleasure and pain that comes from poking the sore spot. 

Patrick prides himself on being in control, on surrounding himself with people who approach life the same way. He thinks about David, standing beside the dining table, his hands clenched and his body quivering with tension. What would it take to provoke that reaction from David again, to make him react out of passion instead of anger? A flush runs through him and the sun feels too warm on his skin. 

He’s lost in the image of David’s piercing black eyes when his phone buzzes again. Rachel. He pushes away a stab of guilt as he declines the call. He doesn’t want to think about Rachel. He lets his thoughts return to David, tumbling the image of him at dinner, lit by candlelight, over and over in his mind.

He shakes off his thoughts about David and pushes himself up off the stairs to go inside. The house feels familiar now, as he closes the door, he can feel it settle around him, as though it had been worried he might not return. Giving a soft pat to the stone pillar beside the front door, he heads to the library without a second thought. 

“Stevie?”

“Morning, Patrick.” Stevie’s acerbic voice fills the library. Over the past week, he’s learned the differences and the strengths of the two AI personalities. Neither Stevie nor Alexis make an ideal research companion, but although Stevie complains while she’s doing what he asks, at least she doesn’t get distracted part way through and abandon him. 

“Stevie, how long have you been in this house?” The room darkens, as though a cloud has passed in front of the sun. Outside, it’s a brilliantly sunny day. 

There’s a long pause, as there always is when he asks questions about David or the house as Stevie tries to decide what she should tell him. “Five years.”

“And before that?” He’s sure of it now. This house, David, the contract, everything hinges on something that had happened five years before.

“Before that?” Stevie sounds confused. It’s the first time he can recall either Stevie or Alexis not understanding his questions.

“You don’t remember anything before five years ago, do you?” The silence is his answer. “And what about David, how long has he been here?”

“Patrick…” Stevie’s voice is reluctant and he knows she doesn’t want to talk about this anymore. 

“Nevermind, I know the answer.” Five years ago something had brought David Rose to this house, something big enough that he’d never been able to leave.

“You do? How could you know that David has only been here for five years? Did you find out what happened five years ago?” Stevie is incredulous now, but she’s unwittingly confirmed his suspicions. 

“What happened five years ago?” Maybe he can get more details now that he’s surprised her.

“That’s when Sebastien—” Stevie breaks off mid-sentence. She laughs uncomfortably. “Pretty good, Brewer, you almost had me.”

He knows she won’t tell him anything more now. He’ll bide his time and try again later. “Okay, let’s get started on the next stack of books.” The room brightens again, and it feels like the house is relaxing around him. He gathers up an armful of books and takes them into the office. A familiar white envelope rests on top of his laptop.

_Patrick,_

_Join me for dinner this evening at seven o’clock._

_David Rose_

A thrill of excitement runs through him, pooling in his stomach. David is insufferable and rude and high-strung and like an unsolvable puzzle, Patrick thinks he can’t get enough. He folds up the note, sticking it in his back pocket, it crinkles alluringly every time he shifts in his chair. 

He sets another pile of books on the desk and turns on the computer. As has been the case every morning, the tiny pile of items he’s found inside the books has vanished. 

“Patrick?” Stevie’s voice interrupts him as he’s staring into space for the third time that morning. He forces himself to concentrate but his thoughts keep slipping back to David. 

“Sorry. Just thinking...about stuff.” It’s perfectly natural to be drawn to David. He’s like no one Patrick has ever known. And, as the only other flesh-and-blood person in his house, he wants someone he can talk to. That’s all it is.

“Did David ask you to dinner?” Stevie’s voice is knowing and eager.

“How did you know that?”

“He always writes things down when he doesn’t want us to know about it.” Stevie sounds miffed that David wouldn’t want her and Alexis knowing every aspect of his life. “Just for the record, Patrick, I like this for you. I like it a lot.”

“Like what? There’s nothing to like.” It’s just dinner, that’s all.

“Maybe there could be.” It’s like Stevie is pushing him to spend time with David. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was trying to set them up on a date.

“Okay, I think we need to get to work.” He opens the next book and reads out the title. On his second day in the library, he’d discovered that he can read the information from each book aloud and Stevie will populate the database for him. He double checks each entry and he still needs to search through each volume for whatever David is searching for, but the work goes much more quickly than before. Together, they’ve added 534 books to the database, but the volume of books in the library seems even more daunting than before. He reaches for the next volume on the pile when his phone buzzes with a text.

 **Rachel:** Which do you like better?

Two photos of almost identical looking centerpieces are attached. He responds impatiently.

 **Patrick:** The first one  
**Rachel:** Are you sure, I kind of like the second one?  
**Patrick:** That one’s fine too  
**Rachel:** Just fine?

He can’t with this right now. In all honesty, he never could, but it was easier to defer to his mom or Rachel’s mom or Elisa, Rachel’s best friend and let his lack of opinion get lost in the shuffle. But now, it seems like Rachel wants to make sure he’s included and it’s harder to hide over text.

 **Patrick:** I like them both.

He can see the three dots appear and disappear as Rachel types her response.

 **Rachel:** I just want to make sure you’re involved

Fuck. He closes his eyes, breathing through his nose before he writes back, trying to de-escalate like always so he doesn’t have to get into a fight.

 **Patrick:** I know and I love that you are  
**Rachel:** We’ll go with the second one then  
**Patrick:** Okay  
**Rachel:** Okay

After a quick swim and a shower, he goes up to his room to get ready for dinner. He hasn’t spent much time here, preferring to distract himself with the other things that the house has to offer. Flipping through his limited wardrobe, he doesn’t bother with the jacket this time. Judging by David’s expensive clothing, he’s fairly sure David won’t appreciate it. 

He arrives in the dining room promptly at seven o’clock. As before, David sits at the far end of the table, the same place setting waits for him at the opposite end. As before, David’s features are hidden by the hood of his sweater. The dead squirrel is gone, replaced by an off-white hoodie covered in huge, black polka dots. The shadows hide most of David’s face, but Patrick can feel the dark eyes watching his every move. His stomach gets a funny, tingling feeling and he pauses inside the door, eyes narrowed as he considers. “Nice to see you again, David.” 

David looks up, his eyes narrow and get even darker. “Mmm.”

Before David can say anything further, Patrick picks up his chair and carries it down the length of the table, setting it at David’s right hand. Returning to the other end of the table, he gathers his dishes and cutlery, recreating the place setting precisely in front of his chair. The chafing dishes, napkin and wineglass receive the same treatment until, half a dozen trips later, he has arranged everything to his satisfaction at David’s end of the table. Taking his seat, he pulls his chair to the table, giving David a challenging look. 

“If the food is cold, I’m blaming you.” There’s amusement in David’s voice, but something else as well, like he’s secretly pleased despite his brusque words. 

“Good to know.” Patrick lifts the lids of the silver serving dishes, revealing the same meal as the time before; mozzarella sticks, lasagna, and chocolate cake. “You must really like mozzarella sticks.”

“Not really.” The humor is gone from David’s voice, the hard mask fully disguising his face. 

“If we’re going to be spending time together, I thought we should get to know each other.” He adds a couple of mozzarella sticks to his plate. 

“Are we going to be spending time together?” There’s a snap to David’s voice and his eyes are hard.

He shrugs. “If I’m going to be here for a year, it seems like we might run into each other now and then.” That hasn’t been the case so far, he’s only seen David when the other man has instigated it, but a year is a long time to live in the same house together, even one as large as this one. 

“Not if I can help it.” It’s breathtakingly rude, almost deliberately so. Is David trying to bait him? He tamps down his first, sarcastic response. Maybe he’s wasting his time here. David is uninterested in him at best, there’s no reason for Patrick to chase after him like a puppy after a ball.

“Why did you bring me here, David?”

David sets down his fork with a clatter. “I didn’t want you here. I don’t want you here.” He’s almost yelling.

He can feel his temper rising and he fights for control. Yelling back at David won’t help him figure out what’s going on. “Maybe not me, but you went to great lengths to bring someone here.” 

“I didn’t go to any lengths. Trust me, if I’d had any choice in the matter, I wouldn’t have let anyone come here, let alone…” 

He raises his eyebrows at David. “Let alone what?”

“Let alone someone like you.” For the second meal in a row, David shoves back his chair and stalks out of the dining room. This time, the door closes softly behind him. Alone at the table, Patrick finishes his dinner, thinking about David Rose.

After dinner, he’s restless, looking for a distraction from David, from Rachel, from his increasing feeling of loneliness and the thought that it might be a year before he has a civil conversation with another human being. He remembers the movie theatre he’d seen on his first day in the house. Losing himself in someone else’s problems is exactly what he needs right now. 

It takes him three tries to pick the right door to the theatre. The theatre is just as he remembers, a dozen black leather recliners face a large screen, the interior of the room is draped with red velvet curtains. He searches for the controls for the projector, but there’s nothing. 

“Uh, Stevie, Alexis? A little help here?” He stares at the ceiling, as though that will provide some answers.

“Oh, is it movie night?” Alexis’s voice fills the space and the screen at the front of the room lights up. “We love movie night, isn’t that right, Stevie?”

“Sure.” As always, Stevie sounds less enthused.

Patrick waits for some options to come up on the screen. “Do you, uh, have favorite movies?”

“Well, I like Legally Blonde. And Charlie’s Angels. Although between you and me, the action scenes aren’t very realistic.”

“Too over the top?”

“Of course not. The opposite, silly. Any woman who can’t knock out an assassin with a bobby pin and a bottle of prosecco has no business calling herself a spy.”

“Huh. How about you, Stevie?”

“Oh, you probably haven’t heard of the movies I like. Unless you have a secret passion for low-budget, indie horror films?” He shakes his head, amused by the surety in Stevie’s voice. “Well, you’re missing out. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen all the films in The Crows Have Eyes franchise.”

“Okay. Well. I was thinking of maybe watching A League of Their Own?”

“The darling baseball movie with Madonna and Rosie O’Donnell?” He swears he hears Alexis clapping in delight. “Let me just bring it up for you, Patrick.”

He wishes there was popcorn. A theatre like this demands popcorn and sugary soda. He can almost smell the buttery kernels. As if the AIs can read his thoughts, a panel in the wall slides open, revealing a small concession complete with fountain drinks and fresh popcorn. 

“This is very impressive.” 

“We try to be good hosts, Patrick.” 

“And you are, you’re very good hosts.” Much better than David, he thinks as he helps himself to some fresh popcorn. Alexis starts the movie and dims the lights and he loses himself in the feel-good baseball story. Alexis and Stevie are seemingly caught up in the movie as well, even Stevie cheers when the players make a dramatic play. 

There’s a soft noise next to him and he looks over to see David sitting three seats away. As always, his face is hidden by his hoodie, his face is riveted to the screen. At last, the movie comes to its inevitable, happy conclusion. The lights come up and he looks for David but the theatre is empty. With a frown, he says good night to Alexis and Stevie and makes his way upstairs to his room. 

He’s just about to fall asleep when he hears the noises again. Banging and rustling coming from somewhere else in the house. He’d forgotten to investigate the sounds he’d heard last time. Tomorrow, he vows sleepily, he’ll explore the remaining parts of the house.

_...soft hands stroke down his stomach, tickling the crease at the top of his thighs..._  
_...his cock twitches, searching for friction..._  
_...fingernails scrape the soft skin on his thighs..._  
_...Rachel grins wickedly as she takes him into her mouth..._  
_...Rachel fades away and it’s David between his legs, large hands pinning him down..._  
_...his mouth is red and stretched around Patrick’s cock..._  
_...his black eyes burn into Patrick’s, making him come with a cry..._

He wakes with a gasp. His cock is hard and throbbing. With a muffled groan, he tilts his head back on the pillow, finishing himself off before the image of David’s eyes can fade from his mind. He comes fully awake as the aftershocks of his orgasm ripple through him. He wipes his hand on his t-shirt. It’s not the first time he’s dreamt about a male partner, but usually his dreams contain faceless figments of his imagination, not an all-too prickly, very real, David Rose. He pushes away the uncomfortable implications of his thoughts and gets ready for the day.

He’s almost to the library when he hears the voices. Slowing, he pauses outside the door. It’s open a few inches and he can hear Stevie and Alexis arguing. Is it eavesdropping if the people who are talking are AIs instead of real people? It doesn’t; he decides. Stevie and Alexis had said it was impossible to sneak up on them. So maybe they want him to hear.

“I can’t believe you told him about Sebastien!” Alexis’s voice is shrill.

“I panicked, okay? He’s just too nice, he slipped past my defenses.” 

“He can’t find out why we brought him here. If this is going to work, he can’t be coerced.”

“I know. I know!” Stevie’s frustration is evident. There’s a sound that might be the virtual equivalent of a door slam. He pushes the door open. 

“Stevie?”

“Morning, Patrick.” Alexis greets him as brightly as usual. “Stevie’s indisposed today, but you and I will have so much fun.”

“Oh, does she have a virus?” He can’t resist making a computer joke.

“That’s not funny, Patrick.” Alexis scolds him. 

He chuckles to himself until she huffs at him. He sets the first stack of books on the desk. “Hey, Alexis?” He stops, not sure what he wants to say or even if he dares give voice to his growing feelings for David. “Um, do you know why David hates me?”

“David doesn’t hate you, Patrick.” Alexis’s voice is quiet and serious. “He’s just afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” He wishes he had half of David’s confidence. It’s almost unimaginable that he might be scared.

“He’s afraid of you.” The unexpected answer freezes him for a second.

He looks down at his department store jeans and button-down shirt, trying to picture what David might find to be afraid of. “What?”

“Not like you, you. The idea of you.” As is typical, Alexis says the words as though they make sense.

“What does that mean? He’s afraid of business majors in straight-legged denim?” 

“I’ve probably said too much. Now let's enter some books in your cute little computer.” Progress with Alexis is much slower than with Stevie. Every title prompts one story or another, about the time she had been kidnapped by Somali pirates or the time she’d escaped from a Bengalese prison with only a hairbrush and a bag of cocaine or the time she’d trekked across the Gobi desert. He doesn’t quite understand how the AIs came to be. Were they programmed with this much personality or had they developed these quirks over time, somehow growing personalities within the confines of their digital environment?

After Alexis regales him with a twenty-minute story involving an underground Roman tunnel, a bag of diamonds and the Vatican secret police, he calls it a day. Hopefully Stevie will recover and be available to help him tomorrow.

Heading back to his room, he pauses at the top of the stairs. On his left, a darkened hallway leads to a wing of the house that he hasn’t explored yet. Restless, he walks down the dimly lit hallway. It’s cold and he shivers. Unlike everywhere else he’s been in the house, the lights don’t come on automatically as he walks. He shrugs off his unease and takes another couple of steps. If anything, it gets darker, as though the house is warning him away. His curiosity grows. He taps his key fob on the pad by one of the doorways. To his surprise, the green light flashes and the door swings open.

The room is nearly three times the size of his own suite. It’s an art studio, easels and canvases cover every surface, most of them so large he couldn’t get his arms across them to carry them. The paintings are abstract, slashes of red and black paint cover each one, the rose motif that he’s seen throughout the house is visible on every painting. Every canvas is covered in them, some of them realistic, some of them stylized, some of them mere outlines. He would never have believed that roses could be disturbing, but something about this is very dark. His skin crawls and he feels almost unbearably sad as he looks at the tortured images. 

“How did you get in here?” David’s voice cuts him, like being slashed by barbed wire.

He holds up his key fob. “Uh, the door opened…” David strides towards him from a doorway at the far end of the room. He can just make out a bed in the room beyond. David is wearing what looks like a poorly fitted grey tent. Or maybe an homage to an elephant. If it had been designed by someone who had never seen an elephant. The baggy grey hood covers his face. 

“You need to leave. I don’t want you here.” David’s voice is rising, it’s almost shrill. His words bounce off of the walls, striking Patrick like shards of glass.

“David…”

“Go. You need to go.” David crosses arms tightly against his chest. Patrick lifts a hand, almost involuntarily, to comfort him. “Get out!”

“Okay.” He turns back at the door. David is standing where Patrick had left him, his hands covering his face as his shoulders heave. “I’m sorry, David.”

Back in his room, he sinks onto the couch. Maybe he should go home. It’s clear David doesn’t want him here, surely they can find a legal loophole that will release both of them from this farce. Ray’s card is sitting on the coffee table, he could call him and Ray would come and get him if he asked or if he offered him enough money. He picks up the card and taps it on the table. David’s tortured face flashes through his mind. Something else is going on, something more than David taking a dislike to him. 

“Alexis?”

“Yes, button?” 

He grimaces at the now familiar pet name but doesn’t let himself get distracted. “If I leave, what happens to David?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.” As always when he asks about David, Alexis sounds sad. 

“Okay, but…” He runs his hands through his hair. “Can you at least tell me if it would be good or bad if I left?”

“You can’t leave, Patrick.” Alexis’s voice is serious. “It would be very, very bad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New map, this time of the top floor:


	5. Chapter 5

It’s been a month since the incident in David’s studio and Patrick hasn’t seen or heard from him since then. Together, he and Stevie have added nearly two thousand books to the database. He’s found a few more things between the pages, a carefully pressed maple leaf, an old shopping list, a hundred-dollar bill. And every morning when he comes down to the library, the items are gone. But shelves and shelves of books remain uncataloged and he’s starting to feel like the man who tried to empty the ocean with a bucket.

That morning when he comes into the library, he hears the video as soon as he opens the door. On his laptop, he can see the short clip playing on a loop. In the frame, a scruffy-looking man in a ratty sweater sneers at the camera. 

_...a new exhibit opens today featuring risque photographs from photographer Sebastien Raine…_   
_...a new exhibit opens today featuring risque photographs from photographer Sebastien Raine…_   
_...a new exhibit opens today featuring risque photographs from photographer Sebastien Raine…_

He watches the clip play through several times, his lips pursed and eyes narrowed as he considers. Stevie and Alexis have to be behind this, which must mean that despite their refusal to answer his questions, that they want him to know why David has secluded himself in the house. Staring at the frozen face on his screen, he pulls out his phone and texts his mom.

**Patrick:** What can you find out about Sebastien Raine?  
 **Mom:** Is this about David Rose?  
 **Patrick:** I think so

He’s sure Stevie and Alexis won’t tell him anything, but he has to try. “Stevie?”

“Morning, Patrick.” 

“Tell me about Sebastien Raine.” He knows that she knows what it means. He pushes down his frustration that she won’t or can’t tell him. 

The silence is so absolute that he thinks that she’s gone offline. “I can’t do that, Patrick.” Her voice is almost sad. 

“So you don’t know anything about this video?” On the screen, Sebastien Raine walks back and forth in a loop. 

“Not that I can tell you.” He sighs in annoyance. 

“Fine.” He closes the video on the laptop and opens the database. “Let’s get to work.” 

They work through more piles of books. He’s about to stop for lunch when his phone buzzes with an email from his mom. 

_Sebastien Raine is a New York-based photographer. He came to critical acclaim five years ago with an exhibition featuring a raw, behind the scenes look at the New York club scene. The photographs, which featured a single, male subject in a variety of compromising situations, made him a darling of the art world for most of 2015. Since then, he has fallen from grace somewhat, as his later exhibits have not received the same level of success._

He’s almost certain that the male subject mentioned in his mom’s email is David. The timing fits with David’s seclusion at the house. But there has to be something more, something he’s missing.

“I’m going for a walk to clear my head.” Alexis would have given a chipper response, but he’s learned that Stevie doesn’t respond unless he asks a direct question. 

Instead of going out the front door, he heads for the door he’d discovered last week, tucked behind the grand staircase in the entryway. It opens into a formal rose garden; the flowers are at their peak, roses of every color grow in formal patterns, the symmetry of the design flowing naturally from the house. To his left, a large greenhouse dwarfs the garden, the sun glinting from its windows. The scent is intoxicating and he breathes in, closing his eyes as everything else falls away.

It’s quiet. He’s grown so used to the hum of the house that it takes a minute for the outdoor sounds to register. There’s a bird at the corner of the house, singing like it’s auditioning for American Idol. He hears the bees buzzing amidst the flowers and the light rustle of the leaves as the wind shifts. And from the greenhouse he can hear the faint sobs of someone crying. 

He’s at the door of the greenhouse before he can ponder if his presence will be welcomed. The door is open and he hesitates for a second, remembering the last time he’d explored without asking. Another sob makes his decision for him. The greenhouse is filled with plants. It’s more jungle than anything else, vines rise from raised beds to form a canopy above his head. The edges of the room are softened by stonework and water features, designed to make the interior look more natural than industrial. Paths lead in several directions from the door, he stops to listen, a soft sound drawing him down the pathway on his left.

As he comes around a corner, the pathway opens up into a small, open seating area. David sits on a stone bench across from him, his knees pulled up to his chest and his head cradled on his arms. As Patrick approaches, another soft sob seeps out of him. 

He stands uncertainly for a moment before some sixth sense alerts David to his presence. For the first time since Patrick has seen him, his head is uncovered. He tilts his head back, meeting Patrick’s eyes. Even though his eyes are red and swollen, David’s features are perfectly sculpted, but it’s the look on his face that traps Patrick’s attention. Deep creases mark his forehead and the lines of his mouth. Haggard is the only word that Patrick can bring to mind. Whatever has brought David here, it’s more than a moment of sadness. 

He gestures to the other end of the bench. “Can I sit?” David shrugs and nods and Patrick lowers himself carefully onto the stone bench. The heat of the greenhouse has warmed the air, but the stone is still cool to the touch. “Do you want to talk about it?”

David shakes his head and shrugs again. “It’s just a fucking panic attack, it’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Okay.” David looks terrible and his knuckles are white where his hands are clenched together, as though he’s trying to keep them from trembling. Silence descends between them, he can hear David panting in short, sharp breaths. The air is sticky, bordering on uncomfortable. He waits for David’s breathing to even out but it grows more erratic. He casts around, searching for a distraction.

“Six months ago, I asked my girlfriend to marry me.” Out of the corner of his eye, he sees David’s fingers relax slightly as he tells the story. “That night I woke up in the middle of the night and had a panic attack. I thought I was dying.”

“Yeah.” The word is so quiet that he might have imagined it.

He’d had panic attacks regularly after that, often after an ongoing bout of wedding planning or a stressful wedding decision. Until, he suddenly realized, he’d come here. He hasn’t had a single panic attack in the past six weeks. 

“What did you do?” The distraction is working. David’s breathing is returning to normal, the white is gone from his knuckles.

“I came here.”

“Well, I’m glad that worked for one of us.” A ghost of a smirk crosses David’s face. It’s the first glimpse Patrick has had of the person behind the mask, behind the angry words and resentment. The laugh seeps out of him before he can hold it back. His eyes fly to David’s face, worried how he might react. David’s mouth twists and then he’s laughing, that hysterical, out-of-control laughter that happens when something seems far funnier than it really is. 

Finally, the laughter fades away. David makes a gulping, snorting noise that almost sets them off again. Patrick wipes the tears from his cheeks and holds out his hand. “Maybe we can start again? My name’s Patrick Brewer.”

David’s mouth twists again, his eyes burn with the dregs of laughter as he takes Patrick’s hand. “David Rose.” 

Patrick tries to ignore the jolt of electricity that comes from taking David’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you, David Rose.” He should let go of David’s hand. It’s weird to be holding someone’s hand for this long. Reluctantly, he releases David’s fingers. 

“I’m sorry you had to see me like this.” David runs his hands over his face. “I look absolutely beastly.”

David might possibly be one of the most beautiful people Patrick has ever seen. Even with the stress carved into his face, he’s gorgeous. “You...you look fine to me.”

“That’s a ringing endorsement, so thank you.” David smirks and Patrick grins back at him.

Before he can say anything further, David’s stomach growls loudly, breaking the silence. “Join me for lunch?”

David looks uncertain, he twists the silver rings on his right hand anxiously. “I…”

“Please? I’m tired of my own company.” He doesn’t want to let David go, doesn’t want to give this up now that he’s just found it.

Finally, David tilts his head the tiniest amount. “Okay. Lunch.” 

He follows David back into the house to the kitchen. Patrick gets down the bowls as David takes a pot of soup out of the fridge. Ever since he’s come here, there’s been a pot of soup or stew in the fridge or on the stove but it’s never occurred to him to question where it came from. He gestures to the pot as David places it on the stove. “Did you make that?”

“Is it okay?” 

He can see the defensiveness creeping over David’s face and he hurries to reassure him. It’s fine. I just thought you might have people for that.”

“My people, as you call them, all quit the first week I was here. And none of the locals are stupid enough to take this on.” David gestures to himself, his eyes bouncing away from Patrick’s as he speaks.

Patrick’s heart cracks at the bitterness in David’s voice. “Seems like their loss.”

“Because of the money, you mean? Don’t worry, they were all paid _very_ well.”

“No, that wasn’t what I meant.” The soup is boiling, so he ladles it into the two bowls and hands one to David. “So you’ve been here by yourself ever since?”

“That’s right.” There’s a warning in David’s voice telling him not to push but he can’t keep from adding one more comment.

“That must have been hard.” He can’t imagine spending every day for the past five years alone in his house.

David’s fingers clench on his spoon and his mouth twists. “Not when compared to the alternative.”

He wants to ask David why he had come here, why he’s never left. But more than that, he wants to ask him if he wishes things were different, if he dreams of something more. Before he can form a question, his phone buzzes in his pocket. Rachel. A stab of guilt burns through him. It’s been nearly a week since they’ve spoken, he’s texted and made excuses about why it wasn’t a good time to talk. He’s not sure why he’s avoiding her but being here makes the wedding and his life back home feel distant and remote. And, if he’s honest with himself, the part of himself that he’d typically reserved for Rachel has been increasingly occupied with thoughts about David Rose.

He declines the call and looks up to find David watching him carefully. “You’re allowed to talk to your friends and family. This isn’t a prison. For you, at least.”

There’s a lot to unpack in those few sentences but he shakes his head. “It’s fine. It’s complicated.” Was it complicated? He’d made everything with Rachel seem as simple as possible but being away from her makes him realize what an illusion he’d created for himself. He doesn’t want to talk about Rachel. “Tell me about Stevie and Alexis.”

“I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.” David narrows his eyes at him, his expression guarded. “One for one, a fair trade.”

“Okay, David, I’ll answer your questions.” David’s insecurity has faded and he looks at Patrick appraisingly. A small shiver runs through him. “Where did Stevie and Alexis come from?” 

“I, uh, programmed them. To keep me company.” David bites his lip and looks down at the tabletop, as though he’s embarrassed. 

“That’s very impressive. They, uh, they have a lot of personality. Just like Jarvis in Iron Man.” 

“I don’t know what that is.” David rolls his eyes at him. “And they have too much personality.” 

“Um, we have just the right amount of personality, David.” Alexis’s voice interrupts them, making them both jump.

“This is a private conversation, Alexis.” David sounds so annoyed that Patrick has to bite his lips together to keep from laughing.

“Um, You didn’t say that, David.” Alexis snaps back at him just as quickly. 

“Eat glass, Alexis.” There’s a long pause as both David and Alexis wait for the other to speak. Finally, David gives in. “Alexis…”

“Ugh, fine, David. You and button can have your little private conversation without us.”

David looks at him curiously. “Button?”

Patrick flushes, running his thumbnail along a crack in the wood of the table. “She, uh, says I’m cute as a button?” His voice rises embarrassingly on the last word.

“Well, she once called Justin Timberlake a sweet little cream puff, so you’re getting off lightly.” 

He’s strangely disappointed. It’s not like he’d expected David to say he was cute, but he wanted David to think it. “My turn.” David’s dark eyes fix themselves on him and he feels like he’s being tested. “Why are you avoiding your family?”

Needing an excuse to avoid David’s eyes, he gathers up the empty bowls and takes them to the sink to wash them. 

“It’s not my family. It’s my, uh, it’s my fiancee.”

“So why are you avoiding your fiancee? I would have thought you’d be desperate to talk to her now that you’re stuck here.”

He should be. He should be dying to talk to Rachel instead of declining her calls and texting her at weird hours and making excuses. He shrugs. “I just don’t have that much to share about my riveting days, I guess.”

“Hmm.” David doesn’t seem convinced, but thankfully he doesn’t press. The desire to ply David with questions about why he’s here, why they’re both here in this house is overwhelming, but he wants to get to know David better too. Turning, he leans back against the counter, arms crossed.

He starts with something easy. “What’s your favorite movie?” 

A smile teases at the edges of David’s mouth. “I like a good Sandra Bullock vehicle.”

Patrick can’t resist poking at David’s pretentious answer. “Like the bus in Speed?” 

Caught off guard, David laughs, the sound fills the kitchen. “More like The Lake House or Practical Magic.”

“I don’t know, not too many vehicles in those.” He’s sure that Rachel had made him watch both movies, although he’s not sure he could describe the plot of either.

“Okay. Just because _you_ think you’re funny.” David is doing his best to sound annoyed, he forces his lips into a scowl, but the spark in his eyes gives him away.

“My mom laughs at all my jokes.”

“I bet she does.” David fights to keep the smile off of his face. “What’s your favorite place?”

This moment, right now, is rapidly becoming his favorite with the sun lighting up the room and David’s dark eyes focused on him. “Uh. The seats behind first base at Rogers Centre. My dad and I used to watch games together.” They used to go all the time, but since he’d been busy with the wedding, there hadn’t been time. He’ll have to fix that when he gets back. 

“The part with your dad sounds nice.” 

“But not the baseball part?” A full shudder runs through David’s body and he shakes his head vigorously. Patrick laughs into his next question. “Best day you’ve ever spent?”

“The first day after I moved to New York. I went to all these little galleries and I had New York pizza. Which is the best pizza. And then I got cookies from the Levain Bakery, which are the size of dinner plates.” David stops waving his hands wildly through the air and closes his eyes tilting his head back at the memory. “And no one knew I was there to ask me for things.”

“Mmm.” The image of a day spent completely on your own terms is beautiful. 

David opens his eyes and looks at him challengingly. “Biggest regret?”

He should take a moment to think it through, but the words slip out before he can stop them. “Getting engaged.” He slams his mouth shut, biting his lips together. David laughs awkwardly and they stare at each other for a long moment. “Forget...forget I said that.”

“Okay.” David’s voice is quiet, considering. Patrick puts the bowls back in the cupboard and turns to lean against the counter. He’s revealed too much and what had started as a game isn’t fun anymore. “I should go back to the library. Your thousands of books won’t catalog themselves.” A look that might be disappointment flashes across David’s face. “Do you want to come? Stevie and Alexis are great, but I could use someone to carry the books back and forth.”

“Okay, this look is not meant for manual labor.” David does a full body shimmy that makes Patrick’s mouth go dry.

“Oh. You’re better suited for a supervisory position, then?” 

“Yes, as a matter of fact.” David stares at him defiantly, the spark has returned to his eyes.

Patrick hides his smile at David’s confidence. “I might need to see some references. To assess your past experience. I can’t have dead weight on my team.”

“If there are going to be sports references, I’m not sure if I want the job.”

“We need to swing for the fences here, David. I can’t have someone dropping the ball, we need to take it to the mat to get the win.” For a split second, he thinks David will walk out but then his mouth twists and his dark eyes narrow.

“This is why you need my supervisory experience.”

“Okay, David.” With a laugh, he gestures David out the door, following behind him to the library. 

“Morning, Patrick.” Stevie’s voice greets him as always. “And David…” The AI sounds strangely uncertain.

“David has agreed to help us.” Patrick smirks as David spins to face him, rings flashing.

“Is that what I said?” David’s tone leaves no doubt as to his interest in helping.

He quirks an eyebrow at David, daring him to leave. “That’s what I heard.” 

After a few minutes of adjustment, they fall into an easy routine. David reads the book information out to Stevie while Patrick flips through each volume, searching for the missing papers. It’s faster with David there, but there’s an easy companionship to the afternoon that had been missing before. 

Patrick’s thoughts wander back to Rachel. Why is he avoiding her? He should be desperate to talk to her, stuck in this house with no one to talk to until now. Rachel is his best friend. They’re going to get married, for god’s sake. Without his permission, his thoughts slide to David. He sits at the desk, using just the tips of his fingers to handle each volume, his handsome face etched with concentration. He’s fucking gorgeous. It’s perfectly normal to find his gaze returning to him over and over again. Anyone would be captivated by David Rose, it doesn’t mean anything. His eyes back down to the book he’s examining, the corner of a piece of paper pokes out from between the pages. He tugs it free, revealing a playbill for Moira Rose starring in Beauty and the Beast. He holds it up to show David.

“Oh yes, from my mom’s off-off-off-off-off Broadway play.” David’s mouth twists and he rolls his eyes. “She played Belle at a very young 48.” There’s an ironic lilt to his voice that makes Patrick wonder at that particular casting choice.

“Off-off-off-off-off Broadway. Was that, like, in Hoboken?” 

David grins at him. “Something like that.”

He adds the flyer to the pile of things he’s found and opens the next book in his pile. “I do miss it, you know.” David’s voice is quiet, his eyes deliberately focused on the book in front of him.

“Hoboken?” Teasing seems to be key to unlocking David Rose. And making him laugh releases something inside Patrick. 

David huffs a soft laugh. “New York.”

“I’ve never been.” It was as though he’s admitted to never eating chocolate or to murdering kittens in his spare time.

David’s face goes through a series of transformations from shock to horror to amazement before settling on a mixture of all three. “You should go. After.” He waves at the library. “I’ll put together an itinerary.”

“You don’t want to be my tour guide?” They could wander through New York, David could show him the ins and outs of the city he loved, the food and the nightlife and after...

But it’s the wrong question. The laughter drains out of David’s face. “That’s not possible.”

“Why are you here, David?” He keeps his voice soft, not wanting to spook David. The silence is absolute and David stares at him, his eyes like two black holes, absorbing every ounce of light in the room. 

“There are some people I need to avoid.” 

For five years? Patrick lets the question die on his tongue, choosing humor instead. “Good to know I’m not in that category.”

“Not yet.” David’s eyes flash at him. “Give it some time. Those sports jokes mean you’re on probation at best.”

“Well, I’ve always been a good student.” The words are huskier than he means them to be. 

David glances sideways at him. “I bet you are.” His voice is a murmur that runs through Patrick like an electric shock. 

They work together for the rest of the afternoon; the silence broken by the sound of David reading book titles to Stevie. By four o’clock, Patrick is feeling restless. He stands and stretches, his back cracking in the quiet room. “Are you up for a swim?”

The question hangs in the air, soft and intimate. David’s eyes run over him, making him flush. “Sure.”

There’s no sign of David when he gets to the pool, the blue water shimmers enticingly. He dives into the deep end, his muscles move and stretch as he swims to the other end. He’s on his second lap when he hears David. Pausing in the middle of the pool, he wipes the water from his face and watches as David approaches. Patrick lets his eyes wander over the body that is usually covered by a thick sweater. David is leaner than he expected, a line of dark hair draws his eyes downward to his fitted black swim trunks. David smirks as he sees Patrick watching him and he blushes, looking away as David perches, swanlike, on the edge of the pool. David enters the water like a seal, a clean dive from the concrete, he moves beneath the water, emerging beside Patrick and shaking the water from his eyes. 

The water droplets spray across Patrick’s face and he can’t stop himself from splashing water back towards David. A horrified look stretches across David’s face before his eyes narrow and his look turns feral. He’s back under the water like he breathes it and Patrick just has time to hold his breath before he feels a pair of large hands on his ankles, pulling him under. Before he can retaliate, David is gone, halfway down the pool before he resurfaces. 

David is graceful in the water in a way he wouldn’t have expected. Patrick treads water, watching him cut effortlessly through the pool. He can see droplets beading on David’s shoulders every time they break the surface. He wants to lick them off, to feel the heat of David’s skin on his tongue. He wants...he wants David. 

A flush heats his body as though David is touching him. He can feel the color rising in his cheeks and he ducks his head below the water to cool off. When he bobs back up, David surfaces in front of him, eyes dancing as the water sluices over him. As though it belongs to someone else, Patrick sees his hand reach out to chase the water droplets from David’s cheek. David’s skin is warm and Patrick’s fingers catch on his stubble. Time stands still for a sharp second and then the panic crashes over him. He flails backwards until his hand hits the wall of the pool. “I have to go.”

He heaves himself out of the pool. As he turns, he sees the hurt in David’s eyes before the mask comes down, excising all emotion as he dives back into the water, a sleek, elegant shape cutting through the blue water.

He makes it back to his room before his hands start to shake. In the bathroom, he cranks the shower up as hot as he can stand it and lets the water pound down on his body. He closes his eyes and tips his head back, lost in the image of David’s wet body, muscles rippling as he moves. His half-hard cock twitches at the memory and he groans, a deep, guttural sound. He wants David in a way he’s never wanted anyone. He jerks himself off, coming quickly at the thought of David’s hand replacing his own. 

After, he stands in the shower, one hand braced on the tile wall, letting the water cascade over him. All the nights he’d blamed himself, all the times he’d thought he was broken, all the men he’d avoided thinking about, here was the obvious answer right in front of him. He’s weeping, the tears washing away before he can feel them on his cheeks. He sinks to the ground, the tile floor cold beneath him despite the heat of the water. Curled into a ball, he sobs; crying for his younger self, for Rachel, for the fragile dark-haired man he’d hurt as he’d run away from himself one more time.


	6. Chapter 6

_...”everything’s going to be fine”..._  
_...long arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him close..._  
_...the smell of cedar is everywhere, filling his senses..._  
_...sighing, he burrows into the warmth and safety of David’s arms..._

Patrick wakes up the next morning with puffy eyes and a raging headache. With a groan, he presses his hands over his eyes trying to block out the pain. Why had he run away? Why was he so scared? He’s always so afraid. Hidden beneath the layers of confidence lives a black hole of fear, threatening to consume him. 

Before he can start to cry again, he pries himself out of bed and stumbles to the shower. When he closes his eyes, he can see the hurt look on David’s face as he’d rushed out of the pool the day before. He’s broken whatever nascent thing had been growing between them. There shouldn’t be anything growing between them, is the thing. He’s supposed to get married, for god’s sake. _You can’t get married now_ a little voice inside him points out. 

Shit, shit, shit. He hates that he had to come here. Hates David Rose and his secrets and his dark eyes and his gorgeous body. Is he really going to throw away the life he’d planned over a moment in a swimming pool? A moment that probably means nothing to David? If David is interested in anything, it’s probably a meaningless fling, something short and sweet to ease his boredom. And even if David was interested instead of just desperate, what’s his endgame here? It’s not like he’s going to take David to Julia Stiles-athon at the local drive-in.

He doesn’t know what he wants. In the shower, he throws on the water and stands under the hot spray. The temptation of David threatens to override his common sense. Whether it was an hour or a day, he would throw caution to the wind just to see where David Rose might take him. The thought of it makes him groan again and before he knows it, his hand is on his cock, stroking furiously. Barely seconds later, he’s coming again, his body loose and limp at the image of David even as the guilt gnaws inside him. 

Okay. Enough. He pushes it all down inside. He can’t work like this. He can’t keep thinking about David, about getting himself off to thoughts of David, if he’s going to stay here. He needs to focus. With a sigh that might be closer to a groan, he gets out of the shower and gets dressed.

In the library, he sits at the desk and puts his head in his hands. The playbill for the Beauty and the Beast sits beside the laptop. He winces to think of how he and David had laughed about it together.

“Morning, Patrick. Will David be joining us today?” He can tell Stevie is trying to sound upbeat.

“You tell me.” David has proven adept at only seeing Patrick when he wants to see him. They could easily spend months together in this house and never lay eyes on each other again. 

“Patrick…” The AI pauses, as though she’s choosing her words carefully. “David’s been hurt a lot. You need to figure out what you want so it doesn’t happen again.”

If someone had told him three months ago that he’d be sitting in an empty mansion taking advice about his love life from a computer he would have laughed them out of the room. He knows she’s right. Even if David wasn’t so mercurial, it’s not fair for him that Patrick can’t figure out what he wants. He pushes his chair back from the desk. “You know what? I’m going for a walk.”

He’s almost to the front door when he stops at the door to the music room. He pushes open the door, the baby grand piano is as he remembers, black and gleaming in the corner of the room. He slides onto the bench, splaying his hands over the keys. The guitar is a more familiar instrument these days, but he misses playing the piano in his parents’ living room. He taps out a simple scale. Against all odds, the piano is in perfect tune.

He picks out the first few notes of Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide, letting the familiar melody soothe the rough spots inside himself. _I’ve been afraid of changing…_ The line sticks in his throat as his thoughts circle back to the things he’s feeling for David. The sad song fits his mood perfectly, and he’s tempted to follow it up with every maudlin song he knows until he’s weeping onto the piano. Instead, he forces himself to play something more upbeat, sliding into a rusty rendition of Don’t Stop Believin’. 

“Oh, is it karaoke time?” Alexis’s voice makes him jump, his hands flinch on the keys, making a discordant sound.

“Do you do karaoke?” He’s given up predicting the behavior of the AIs, their likes and dislikes defy logic.

“We love karaoke. Isn’t that right, Stevie?”

“ _You_ love karaoke.” He can practically hear Stevie’s eye roll.

Patrick thinks for a moment and plays the opening chords to You Shook Me All Night Long. “How about this one?”

“Yooooouuuu shook me allllll night looooong.” Alexis’s treble wavers slightly off key. With a grin, Patrick joins in, harmonizing enough to smooth out the worst of the pitchiness. Behind him, he hears the door snick open. There’s only one person it could be, but he doesn’t stop playing as even Stevie joins in on the final chorus. Before he can give into the temptation to turn to David, he picks up the chords for Sweet Caroline, the three of them singing as loudly as they can on the chorus.

“Bump bump baaa.”  
“Good times never seemed so good.”

Patrick plays on as a fourth voice joins in on the final chorus. After not playing for so long, his go-to repertoire of songs is rapidly becoming depleted. Slowing things down, he tries to remember the words and the correct keys for Let It Be. He finishes the first verse when he hears the door to the music room click closed. Unable to resist, he looks over his shoulder, but the room is empty. He’s fumbling for the words of the last verse when Stevie interrupts him.

“Fuck.” He can hear the whispering sound of Stevie and Alexis talking together. “Patrick, you need to go to David’s studio. Now.”

“David doesn’t want me there.” If there’s anywhere in this house that David doesn’t want him to be, it’s in his studio and his private space.

“Now, Patrick.” There’s a desperation to Stevie’s voice that he hasn’t heard before. Hoping this won’t end with a repeat of his earlier visit, he pushes back his chair and runs for the door, taking the stairs two at a time. Halfway up, he can hear them, David’s voice is high and pitchy in contrast to the strange voice that he can’t identify. 

He can feel the stress crackling in David’s voice as he pushes open the door to the studio. David and another man stand in front of the windows. He recognizes Sebastien Raine immediately from the video clip. He’s even scruffier than before, his brown hair tousled and his face unshaven. His hands cup David’s face as David glares back at him.

“You’re running out of time, David.” His voice is both pretentious and obsequious.

“No. Never. I’d rather—” David’s mouth snaps shut as he sees Patrick in the doorway.

“You know it’s inevitable. It’s not like you’ve ever had many choices, but living way out here…” Sebastien loosens his grip on David’s chin, stroking his hand down David’s face as he lets go.

“I’ll find another way.” Even Patrick can tell that David’s statement is full of bravado and Sebastien just shakes his head sadly.

“There isn’t any other way.” Sebastien pats David gently on the cheek and turns to survey the studio. His eyes land on Patrick. “Who’s this?” 

“I’m Patrick.” He doesn’t hold out a hand for Sebastien to shake.

“Hmm.” Sebastien’s demeanor doesn’t change but Patrick thinks he might be unsure for the first time since he came into the room. He spins back towards David. “How much does he know?”

Freed from Sebastien’s grasp, David backs up into the easel standing at the edge of the room. “None of your business.” 

Sebastien moves so quickly that David doesn’t have time to react. He’s in David’s face, hissing in his face. “It is my business. You’ll always be my business.” Turning back to Patrick, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Why don’t I show him the photos, David? I keep them right here because so many people like to see them.”

David’s face goes white and his hands clench but he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move to stop Sebastien from whatever he’s about to do.

“That’s enough.” Patrick tries to keep his voice even.

“When it comes to David Rose, there’s no such thing as enough.” Sebastien doesn’t look up from his phone. “Maybe I’ll take a few more photos while I’m here, remind everyone of how far you’ve fallen.”

“I said that’s enough.” Coming to stand in front of Sebastien, he reaches over to press the off button in his phone.

“Oh, there’s some fire in this one.” Sebastien strokes a finger along Patrick’s jawline. Nausea rises inside him and he reaches out to block his hand.

“No.”

“No? NO? You don’t get to say no to me.”

Patrick can feel his pulse pounding in his throat. “Watch me.” Sebastien’s face turns red and he grasps Patrick’s jaw painfully. He jerks his head free, stepping forward into Sebastien’s space. He doesn’t see Sebastien’s fist coming towards him until it’s too late. Pain erupts and the coppery taste of blood fills his mouth. 

“Fuck.” He can feel his lip swelling as the pain changes from sharp to throbbing.

“Get out.” David appears beside him, his fingers ghost along Patrick’s shoulder for a second. “Get out and don’t come back.”

“Oh, we both know I’ll be back. At the eleventh hour, when you’re out of options, I’ll be back.” Sebastien’s lip curls derisively. The door slams behind him. David’s hand is still on Patrick’s shoulder, his fingers squeezing desperately. Patrick brings his hand to his mouth, it comes away covered in blood.

“Ugh. I’m sorry you’re caught in my mess.” David guides him through the door at the end of the studio into his bedroom and pushes him down to sit on the end of the bed. The walls of the room are black, contrasting with the white trim and hardwood floors. It should feel oppressive, but the room is large enough that it’s comfortable. A pristine white bedspread covers the king-sized bed.

Grasping Patrick’s face in one hand, he tilts his head, looking intently at his swollen lip. Patrick winces as David’s fingers press into his jaw, Sebastien must have grabbed him harder than he’d realized. “Don’t move.” David goes into his bathroom and Patrick can hear the water running. He comes back with a folded wet washcloth and dabs at Patrick’s mouth. It stings and he pulls away, only to feel David’s fingers at the back of his head. “Hold still.” David chides him gently, continuing to press the cloth to his lip. The cool cloth is soothing against the throbbing pain. 

“Why was he here?” Between his swollen lip and David’s ministrations, the words are muffled. David doesn’t respond right away, but Patrick can tell he’s heard the question.

“He thinks we’re getting married.” David’s eyes are focused on Patrick’s mouth as he dabs gently with the damp cloth. The cool touch feels good against the sharp pain.

“What?” Shocked, he pulls away from David’s touch. He can feel the cut on his lip pulling painfully as he talks.

“It’s a whole thing. With my family.” David waves his free hand in the air. “You don’t need to worry about it.”

“Getting punched in the face makes me think that I do.” He had been prepared to hate Sebastien based on the little he’d found out about him. Nothing that happened has changed his mind.

David winces and he dabs at Patrick’s lip again. “He needs money.”

“Why do I think there’s more to it than that?” He knows there’s more to it than that, but he doesn’t want to make David think he’s been invading his privacy.

“Fine.” David takes the washcloth back into the bathroom and Patrick can hear the water running again. Coming back out, he hands the cloth to Patrick and steps back. The absence of his hands on Patrick’s face feels like a loss, but he pushes the thought away for now. “I have to get engaged before I turn 35 or my family loses everything.”

This is not what he was expecting. “What is this, a gothic fairy tale?”

David shrugs. “My grandfather had some antiquated ideas, okay? It wasn’t an issue for my parents, but, well…” David looks away from him. 

“And Sebastien thinks you’ll marry him?” David must have been desperate if he’d ever led Sebastien to believe that might be a possibility. 

“He thinks no one else would want me. And look at me, he’s probably right.” David gestures to himself and the house. 

“That’s not— There must be someone else.” Surely anyone would be better than Sebastien. A random person off the street would be better. _He_ would be better. The thought stops him cold.

David’s next words make Patrick think he can read his mind. “Who else? You? You’re already engaged, if I recall our conversation yesterday.” 

Patrick’s stomach writhes at the reminder of his own engagement. He’d pushed everything that had happened last night to the back of his mind, to that place where he keeps the things he doesn’t want to deal with. “Why am I here, David?”

David sighs, twisting his rings. “Rumor has it that there’s another version of my grandfather’s will hidden somewhere in the house.”

The noises he’s been hearing suddenly make sense. “You’ve been searching at night. That’s what I could hear.” David nods and another thought occurs to him. “Wait. You’ve been searching for _five_ years?”

“It’s a big house.” David gestures as the enormous bedroom and Patrick tips his head to acknowledge the point.

“So you didn’t come here to hide from the fallout from Sebastien’s photos?” He asks the question before he can think about what David’s response might be.

David eyes him narrowly. “How did you hear about that?” His voice is defensive again, which Patrick is coming to realize is his default position when he feels insecure.

“Uh, I did some research?” He shrugs as amiably as possible. “You had to expect we’d look into the terms of the contract.”

“I don’t know anything about the contract. And that shouldn’t be possible. I went to great lengths to remove myself from the internet.”

“Well firstly, not everything is just on the internet. And secondly, you didn’t erase Sebastien from the internet.” David crosses his arms and glares at him and once again Patrick sees the man who had yelled at him the first time he’d been in this suite. “David, it’s fine. I don’t care.”

“Did you see them?” David’s voice is quiet. “The photos, did you see them?”

“No. And I don’t want to see them. I only wanted to know why someone...like you would want to stay in this house by themselves.” His heart pangs at the idea that David has spent five years alone, desperate to avoid a forced marriage.

“Well you know now.” David’s voice is cold and bleak. 

“I guess I do.” The swelling is going down on his lip. He pulls the washcloth away and pokes it gingerly with his tongue. 

“Let me see.” David’s hand cups his cheek again, tilting his head towards the light. “I don’t think you’ll need stitches.” He can’t stop himself from running his tongue over his lip again, David’s eyes follow the motion. “Stop that, you’ll only make it worse.”

David’s fingers are warm against his face, the urge to lean into his hand is nearly overwhelming. He clears his throat and David pulls his hand away, he can still feel the imprint of his fingers against his skin. “I should, uh…” He gestures to the door. “That will’s not going to find itself.” David steps back as he stands up and moves to the doorway.

He’s almost to the door when David’s words make him turn back. “Thank you.”

“For what?” All he’s done is interfere and make David think he’s violated his privacy. 

“For Sebastien, for taking this seriously, for getting punched in the face. No one has ever done that for me before.” David looks away as though he’s ashamed of this admission.

“For the record, I’m not prepared to make a habit of the last one.”

He can tell the joke is the right call when David grins at him, a quicksilver flash that ends with him rolling his eyes. “Good to know.”

Before going to the library, he goes to his room to change his shirt. In the bathroom, he stares at himself in the mirror. His lip is swollen on the left side, he pokes at it with his tongue, releasing a burst of pain. He can see the bruises starting to form along his jawline where Sebastien grabbed him, dark purple blotches against his fair skin. But it’s not Sebastien’s hand that he’s thinking about as he stares in the mirror. It’s the memory of the gentle touch of David’s fingers that makes him groan. 

He’s close to doing anything to feel that touch again, to have David’s fingers on his body. Too close. The box he’d locked up that morning springs open. He can’t marry Rachel. An hour with David has made him feel more things than he’d felt in ten years with Rachel. He hangs his head, his hands clutching at the edge of the counter. He wants to weep again thinking of the time he’s lost, the time he’s taken from Rachel.

Lifting his head, he stares at himself in the mirror again. The eyes that look back at him are intolerably sad and he flinches away from them. He needs to talk to Rachel. He pulls out his cell but the thought of having that conversation over the phone makes him nauseous. He doesn’t have to do this now. It can wait until they’re face to face. He pushes away the guilt. Later. 

He strips off his shirt, filling the sink with cold water to let the blood stains soak. At least he now knows why he’s here. He can lose himself in the library for the next nine months or however long it takes to find the will. He can avoid his growing attraction to David and his guilt about Rachel until then. Everything will be fine.

Back in the library, he stands in the middle of the room and turns in a slow circle, looking at the shelves of books that line each of the walls, the rich oak bookcases stretching twenty feet in the air to the vaulted ceiling, carved roses trailing up each stanchion. Behind him, two lonely shelves are filled with the books that he and Stevie have catalogued. Maybe there’s a way to be smarter about this.

“Stevie?”

“Yes, Patrick?” Somehow, the AI conveys a world’s worth of mockery into the two words.

“How many books are in the library?” He should have thought of this sooner, instead of just diving in. He’s a planner, he likes having a plan, but he’s been off-kilter ever since he came here. And it’s not just the books in the library that have turned everything upside down.

“There are 15,627 books in the library.” It’s fewer than he’d thought but still far too many. At the rate he’s been going, he won’t get through searching all the books before he leaves.

Now that he knows what he’s looking for, maybe he can be more organized about it. “How many of those books were here when David’s grandfather died?” 

“Hmm. I can’t say for sure, but the bookcases on the west wall are original to the house. The others were added later.” It’s not a perfect answer, but it’s a start. He’ll start there and hope for the best. 

“Hey Stevie?”

“Yes, button?” It’s Alexis who answers this time. Mostly, the AIs answer when he says their names, but from time to time they mysteriously switch back and forth without explanation.

“What day is it?” Here in the house, the days have started to blend together. 

“It’s Friday, September 14.” Regret and a tinge of sadness run through him as Alexis confirms the date. 

“Oh.” Tomorrow is September 15. He’s forgotten, almost deliberately. “Did you know that I was supposed to get married tomorrow?”

“I’m sorry, Patrick.” It’s an indication of how much time he’s spent with Stevie and Alexis that he can tell she means it. 

“It’s okay.” To his surprise, it feels okay. “It’s just, you make plans and you work to meet expectations and then one day, one day you discover you want something different. It’s a lot to adjust to, you know?” He wants something different. He just needs to figure out what it is and then work up the courage to tell Rachel. And his parents. Whatever it is, he increasingly hopes it might involve David Rose.

“You know, Patrick, sometimes love is like a key. You think you’ve found the right lock but over time the lock gets rusty and you need to look for a new one.” Alexis sounds very pleased with her analogy.

“Uh, okay.” He’s not sure if he fully follows Alexis’s metaphor, but he takes her point nonetheless. 

“God I wish this were easier.” But he always wants things to be easy. That’s part of how he ended up where he is, engaged to Rachel because it was expected and never thinking about what he truly wants because it means having difficult conversations with himself. He scrubs his hands over his face. He needs to get to work, to chase away his discomfort with a practical task. 

He’s setting the first armful of books on the desk when there’s a soft noise behind him. David leans in the doorway, his rings flash as he worries at them. “Can I help?”

His stomach gets that shivery feeling that he’s read about but never felt before David Rose. “Uh, yeah.” He moves over so that David can sit in front of the computer. They fall into the same rhythm as they had before, every so often David’s fingers will brush against his, making the fluttery feeling churn inside him. He’s glad David has taken over the reading of the book titles, otherwise the quiver in his voice will surely give him away. 

By the end of the day, it feels like all of his nerve endings are on fire with the effort of containing himself around David. He tumbles into bed, letting the swirl of images and feelings about David settle around him as he drifts to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

_...across the room, David’s hands flail and his face twists as he talks..._   
_...standing in front of David, Patrick aches for him to notice him, as the black eyes fasten onto his..._   
_...a soft smile twists David’s lips..._   
_...his hands stroke the length of Patrick’s body, stopping just short of where he yearns to be touched..._

The ache of his hard cock wakes Patrick from his dream about David. He flushes as the images fade. It’s been a week since the altercation with Sebastien. They’ve made good progress in the library, but there’s still no sign of David’s grandfather’s will. Patrick had hoped his attraction to David would wane with time, but it’s getting worse. He dreams about David nearly every night and thinks about him constantly during the day. With a grimace, he staggers into the shower, finishing himself off under the hot water.

He towels himself off, wiping the mirror clean so he can see his reflection. That he looks the same as always seems inconceivable, surely there should be some external reflection of his internal turmoil. Spending nine more months like this feels like more than he can bear. With a sigh, he gets dressed, bracing himself for another day of fighting his attraction to David Rose.

Over the past week, they’ve fallen into a routine where David joins Patrick in the library around ten o’clock and they work together for the rest of the day. But today when he goes into the library, there’s a note waiting for him, with beautiful calligraphy on heavy white paper, the same as on his first days at the house.

_Meet me for dinner tonight? Seven o’clock._

A tiny drawing of a rose is the only signature. Patrick tips his head back and stares at the ceiling. It’s as though David knows how to torture him in the most exquisite way possible. But he can’t say no. He burns with the need to see David at any opportunity. 

He’s distracted all day and Stevie takes every opportunity to tease him every time he loses his concentration. Which means he spends most of the day either staring into space or being teased by Stevie. Finally, having accomplished almost nothing, he calls it a day, leaving himself just enough time to get ready for dinner. He gets to the dining room a few minutes before seven o’clock but there’s no sign of David. The long table is empty, even the silver candlesticks have been cleared away.

“Stevie? Alexis? Where’s David?”

“David is in the rose garden.” Alexis sounds annoyed. “Probably because he knows we can’t see what happens out there. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Patrick.”

“We’re not— It’s not— Yeah…” It’s just dinner but even so he’s grateful to be out of range of Stevie and Alexis’s prying eyes and knowing comments. 

Outside, David sits at a small table beneath the cherry tree that stands at the center of the garden, his dark form is an exclamation point against the vibrant colors of the roses. Fairy lights twinkle among the branches and he can hear Mariah Carey playing over a bluetooth speaker. David’s mouth twists as Patrick approaches, fire flaring in his dark eyes. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He pushes aside his urge to kiss David on the cheek. The familiar silver serving dishes sit in the middle of the table. 

“What are we having?” His suspicions are confirmed when David raises an eyebrow at him before lifting the lids to reveal the familiar combination of mozzarella sticks, lasagna and chocolate cake. “You know, the mozzarella sticks are growing on me.”

“Mmm.” David rolls his eyes, but Patrick can see that there’s a challenge there as well.

He can tell David thinks he’s teasing him. “I mean it, they remind me…” He pulls back just in time, about to say that they reminded him of David. “...of good things.”

“That seems highly unlikely given where we are.”

He’s struck by the need to tell David how he’s feeling, to at least give him a glimpse of what David is starting to mean to him. “I mean it. Being here, there have been lots of good things.”

David looks skeptical, but a small smile quirks at the corner of his lips. “I’m not sure I’d put the mozzarella sticks on that list.”

They’ve been working side by side for the past week, but something about this evening feels supercharged. A frisson of electricity hums beneath his skin, his eyes repeatedly dropping to David’s lips. The corners of David’s mouth twist upwards and Patrick knows that he notices but he can’t help himself from doing it again and again. David licks his lips and Patrick forces his eyes down to his plate, taking a moment to regroup. David’s presence drowns out everything else. Every movement, every gesture lights him on fire. David picks up his fork and Patrick feels a tremor run through him. 

Somehow, they finish the lasagna and the mozzarella sticks and start on the chocolate cake. Patrick thinks he’s been able to eat without embarrassing himself, but he’s not entirely sure. He watches David take a bite of the cake, pausing to lick the icing off the back of his fork and he feels his cock twitch in response. 

He could reach over and kiss David right now. The table is small, he could do it, he could slide his fingers through the short dark hair at the back of David’s head and pull him towards him. If he tilted his head just the right way, he could take what he’s wanted since the first time he laid eyes on David Rose. He’s so caught up in the fantasy that when David’s lips meet his he thinks it’s part of the illusion. But David’s lips are soft and warm and the dishes rattle as the press of David’s body pushes the table towards him. His eyes slip closed and David’s fingers dance over his jaw. He sighs as David pulls away with a final press of his lips.

“Sorry.” David looks more amused than apologetic. Before he can sit back down, Patrick’s hand grasps the back of his neck and he’s pulling David towards him, his spare hand bracing his body on the table as he half-rises from his seat. 

If the first kiss was about starting something, this one is about telling David how he wants to finish it. Teeth and tongues come together as he licks at David’s lips, chasing and demanding. He tugs at David’s hair and a gasp hisses from David’s mouth, making him push back against David until he drops into his chair and Patrick looms over him, his hand controlling David’s head, setting the pace of the kiss. 

His desperation ebbs and he can feel David smiling against his lips. “What?”

“Nothing. I was starting to worry about the fate of the glassware.” The heat in David’s eyes tells a different story.

“That good, was it?” There’s a note of truth beneath the teasing, but David gives him a look that removes the tiny amount of insecurity he’s feeling.

“Do you want to dance?” David stands and holds out his hand. He lets David lead him to the open patio at the center of the garden. There’s an awkward moment as he overthinks where to put his hands but then David is twining his arms around his neck, fitting them together like they were meant to be.

He’s never danced with anyone who was larger than he is before. Well, there was that time when he was fourteen and his Aunt Linda had forced him to dance with her, but this is nothing like that.

It feels like David’s body is everywhere. His long arms are wrapped around Patrick’s shoulders like tentacles, his knees knock against Patrick’s, David’s forehead tips against his. Another Mariah Carey song is playing from the small speaker. Her voice is tinny, the speaker is too small for the outdoor space. Patrick doesn’t care, he would dance with David even if the only music he could hear was inside his own head.

David’s eyes are closed, he’s humming as they sway together. Patrick tucks his chin into the side of David’s neck. He can smell David’s cologne, it reminds him of the cedar picnic table he’d helped his dad build last summer. Instinctively, he presses a kiss just below David’s ear. David’s skin quivers beneath his lips and he huffs a short breath that tickles the back of his neck.

The song ends and David dips his head, his lips find the curve of Patrick’s neck and a shock runs through Patrick’s body at his touch. He tightens his grip on David’s waist, pulling their hips together. 

“I want you.” David murmurs the words in his ear. “But I understand if you want to take things slow.”

He should take things slow. It’s the safe, logical thing to do. But if he has to go to bed without David, he might explode before morning. “I’m tired of playing it safe.” He leans up to kiss David, trying to put everything he wants into the press of his lips. 

David swallows roughly. “Yeah. Upstairs. Now.” His voice sounds as wrecked as Patrick feels. David tugs him towards the door, leaving the half-eaten chocolate cake on the table behind them.

Inside, he hears Alexis giggle as they make their way up the stairs, stopping every few steps to exchange frantic, breathy kisses. On the landing, he slips a hand beneath the hem of David’s sweater, scratching his fingernails along the small of David’s back. David lets out a low, throaty whine that makes Patrick stumble against him when his legs forget how to work properly. 

David practically pushes him up the remaining stairs and down the hall to his room. Patrick dares to slip his fingers beneath the waistband of David’s pants and has the satisfaction of hearing his voice catch in his throat. 

As soon as they’re through the door, David kicks it shut behind them. He guides them backwards, pushing Patrick gently but firmly towards the bed. With a tiny shove, David pushes him down, he lands in the same spot as he had a week before but this time when David’s hand finds his jaw there’s a demanding edge to his touch. David bends to kiss him, the confidence of his mouth paints a picture of how he wants the evening to go. Patrick raises a hand to pull him closer and David slowly pushes him backwards until he’s lying beneath him on the bed. David looms over him, his arms braced on either side of Patrick’s head. David beams and Patrick can’t keep the smile off his own face as David leans down to whisper in his ear. “Is this okay?”

Patrick closes his eyes and tilts his head back, hoping to encourage David to take advantage of his bared neck. He’s wanted this since that night in the pool. Maybe before. For the first time in a long time, he’s not afraid. “Yes, yeah, it’s more than okay.” His voice is broken and breathy and he makes an undignified noise as David settles himself between his splayed legs. His body is heavy on top of him, his weight providing delicious friction for his cock. He moans and tries to move his hips to chase the sensation, but David has him pinned.

“We’re going to have so much more fun in this room this time ‘round.” The look in David’s eyes is positively feral and he has to look away or else he’s going to come right now just from the weight of David’s body and the look in his eyes. 

“Mmm.” He lets his eyes slip closed and his murmur of agreement turns to a gasp as David nips at his jaw. 

“We’re going to make every second we’re in here count.” David rolls his hips, sending a wave of need through him. He’s never felt this, it’s never been like this, he grasps David’s waist, trying to pull him even close as David kisses down his neck. He whimpers as David rolls his hips again, nuzzling at his ear. “Do you remember the last time we were in this room?” David breathes the words into his skin, his breath hot and urgent. “It killed me not to be able to touch you like this.”

David slips his hands under Patrick’s sweater. His hands are cold and Patrick squirms at the touch but David holds him in place. He quivers as the cold fingers skim down his sides. He reaches beneath David’s sweater, consumed by the way David is kissing him. He trails his fingers up his side before pinching his nipple, making David gasp and writhe. 

“It’s like that, is it?” David kisses him deeply, making his hips buck. 

He can feel the beginning of his orgasm starting to build, deep in his belly. It’s too soon, it feels so good, but it’s too soon and god he doesn’t want to come yet. He breaks free of the kiss, gasping desperately. “Wait, stop.” David freezes above him, a worried look on his face. The feeling recedes just enough and then a little more as he closes his eyes and tries not to think of how David looks above him, about how every movement of his body ricochets through him. “I just...I just need a minute or I’m going to come before I can get my pants off.”

David grins down at him, heat and amusement flaring in his eyes. “So what I hear you saying is that I should take your clothes off.”

David rolls away from him and the next few minutes are lost in the hectic rush of sweaters and buttons and shoelaces. At the end of it all, Patrick finds himself in the same position where he started with David holding his body taut above him as he grins down on him. 

The lines of David’s body are like nothing he’s ever seen before. His bulky clothes hide a body that’s long and lean. Patrick lets his eyes fall from the black eyes that are boring into his own, to the broad chest covered by dark hair, to David’s cock, just visible between their bodies. His hips twitch at the sight of it and David grins again, fierce and knowing. Instinctively, he puts his hands on David’s hips, pulling them together, groaning at the feel of David’s dick rubbing against his own. 

“You like that?” David’s voice is low and gravelly beside his ear and the sound tugs at something deep inside him and he thrusts his hips up towards David, seeking friction on his swollen cock. 

“I think it’s pretty clear that I do.” He thrusts again as David rolls his hips. The combined sensation makes him moan. It’s ridiculous, the simplicity of it, and yet he wants to live in this moment. He cups a hand on David’s cheek, the scratch of his stubble sends a ripple of heat through at the sensation that his wholly new turns him on. “David…” It’s more of a gasp than a word.

“I got you.” David kisses him slow and deep, moving his hips in a tortuous rhythm. The kiss turns sloppy as Patrick feels the tension uncoiling inside him. David thrusts against him one more time and he comes with a shout, David following close behind. 

David presses a kiss to the top of his shoulder and Patrick whines as the weight of his body disappears from on top of his own. Distantly, he can hear water running and then David is back, running a warm cloth over his body before climbing into the bed beside him. He’s never felt like this after sex, all loose and floaty. Before, sex had wound him up, made him agitated. 

Tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He blinks them away, he can’t let David see him cry, can’t let him think this night was anything other than life-changing. He’s wasted so much time. He lets go of the regrets before they can consume him. He’s complete in a way he’s never felt before. He opens his eyes to find David watching him closely.

“You okay?” He can hear the note of worry in David’s voice. 

“No. I’m so much more than okay.” He reaches for David’s hip, pulling their bodies together and pressing his lips to the nearest skin he can find, somewhere in the middle of David’s shoulder. 

“Well, good.” David nuzzles at the spot behind his ear, making him shiver. “Goodnight, Patrick.”

“Goodnight, David.” His eyes drift closed, surrounded by the warmth of David’s body.

The next few days pass in a warm haze of soft conversation and the best sex Patrick has ever had. He wakes up every morning, his body tangled with David’s and wonders how he spent his life thinking that something less than this was okay. As happy as he is, thoughts of Rachel haunt him. He can’t marry her but he owes her more than a phone call. He lies awake each night, long after David has fallen asleep, his warm body curled cat-like around Patrick’s, searching for a solution. 

“You okay?” David’s face is tucked into the crook of his shoulder, his breath warm against Patrick’s neck. 

“I’m not sure.” The darkness makes voicing his fears safer. “I feel like a terrible person.” David’s hand ghosts over his chest until it finds his own, weaving their fingers together. “This feels like the most selfish thing I’ve ever done.”

“Hey.” David’s fingers tighten in his. “It’s not selfish to be who you are.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m hurting someone just so I can feel good?”

“Is it only that this makes you feel good?” Even in the dark, he can feel David’s hand twitch, as though it longs to flail around the room. 

There’s an apprehensive note to David’s voice, but he senses that David thinks the question is important. “No, it’s not just that.” He struggles for the words, trying to craft what he wants to say. “It feels right. I’ve never felt like this. I’ve never known I could feel like this. It’s like I found the missing piece to a puzzle.”

“How can that be selfish, then?” David tugs him closer, tangling their feet together. 

“Yeah.” He feels better, even if he’s not fully willing to let go of the guilt he’s feeling. He presses a kiss to the top of David’s hair, letting go before he drifts off to sleep. 

_...the music is too loud and sombre for a wedding..._   
_...DUN DUN de-DUN..._   
_...the music gets even louder as Rachel approaches in her white dress..._   
_...DUN DUN de-DUN..._   
_...”how could you do this to me?” she has to yell over the music..._   
_...DUN DUN de-DUN..._   
_...mascara tracks down her face and she disintegrates, breaking apart in the wind..._

He wakes with a gasp, bolting upright, his heart pounding. 

“...okay?” David’s voice is groggy, but his hand moves in a comforting circle on the small of Patrick’s back.

He takes a deep breath, blinking away the images from the dream, the knowledge of what he has to do pooling inside his stomach. “Yeah, fine.” He lays back down, curling into David. Sleepily, David complies with his unspoken request, wrapping his long arms around his chest and pulling him close. His thoughts chase each other in circles. He has to talk to Rachel. If he’s going to continue whatever this is with David, he has to see Rachel face to face and talk to her. His thoughts march ‘round and around and around until the rhythm of David’s breathing soothes him to sleep. 

In the morning, he wakes before David. He looks across to David’s pillow, the dark hair is mussed and askew, his face burrowed under the blankets in a way that makes Patrick wonder how he can breathe. Patrick smiles as he watches him sleep, holding the moment close, knowing that he has to shatter the idyll when David wakes up.

He could happily stare at David forever, but eventually the dark eyes open. “Morning, sunshine.”

David grimaces at the pet name, but he can’t hide his smile. “Hi.”

Patrick kisses him softly, ignoring David’s protests about morning breath. He rests his head on the pillow beside David’s and takes a deep breath. “I have to go home.” 

The mask drops over David’s face like someone flipped a switch. “I see.”

“No.” He reaches for David’s hip, stopping him from moving away. “Not like that. I can’t...I have to end things with Rachel.”

David’s face relaxes slightly, but a crease remains between his eyes. Patrick smooths it with his thumb. “Just for a few days, then I’ll come back, I promise.”

David doesn’t respond to his promise. “When? Today?”

The thought of leaving today is too much to contemplate, even as he’s driven by the need to escape the weight of his relationship with Rachel so he can start something new. “In a couple of days?”

“Okay.” David kisses him then. Even as he loses himself in David’s touch, he can tell David is holding back, the easy feeling from the night before is gone. _I promise, I promise, I promise._ He does his best to press the words into every inch of David’s skin, praying it will be enough.


	8. Chapter 8

The car horn sounds and Patrick picks up his bag and opens the front door of the house. He’d kissed David goodbye as the morning sunshine filled his bedroom, lingering as long as possible until it was past time to go. David had kissed him back, his eyes pressed tightly closed as though he couldn’t bear to watch Patrick leave. With a backwards glance at the foyer, he pats the stone column by the front door. “I’ll be back. Promise.”

“Goodbye, button.”

“Goodbye, Patrick.” Stevie huffs in annoyance as she and Alexis speak in unison. 

Ray bounds up the stairs as Patrick closes the front door behind him. “Patrick! How wonderful to see you again!” Ray takes his bag, stowing it cheerfully in the back of the SUV. 

“Uh, yeah, you too.” The past three months had let him forget Ray’s indefatigable enthusiasm. As before, it’s slightly overwhelming, but he allows himself to be pulled along in Ray’s wake. 

“Window up or window down?” Ray turns to look at him expectantly. 

“Uh, down, I guess.” He’d rather be alone with his thoughts, but it feels like a personal rejection to hide in the back of the car.

Ray starts the car and they drive back down the winding, tree-lined driveway to the main road. He cranes his neck, watching out the window for as long as he can until the house slowly disappears from sight. When he can’t see it anymore, he turns away, swallowing the lump in his throat. Everything feels eerily familiar and just as wrong as it had three months before. Once again he’s sitting in the back of the luxurious SUV and once again he’s leaving behind the place he wants to be, heading for something he dreads. With every mile they drive, he can feel David falling further and further behind as though he’s passing through a barrier between ‘before David’ and ‘after David’.

“You must be glad to be going home.” Ray glances at him in the rearview mirror. “Such a beautiful house, but I personally would not want to live there.”

“I’m coming back.” _I promise, I promise, I promise._ He repeats the words to himself as fiercely as possible, holding them tight inside himself.

“Of course you are. Everyone is entitled to make their own mistakes is what I always say.”

Patrick regrets leaving the barrier down. He tips his head back against the seat and watches the trees pass by the window. He has to do this, he reminds himself. He can’t figure things out with David while he’s still engaged to Rachel. Pushing down the lump of anxiety that he has about talking to Rachel, he lets his mind wander to the night before, of David’s hands teasing over his body, his dark eyes raking over his, his large hands on his hips as he swallowed him down, the look of lust and satisfaction as Patrick had come in his mouth. _I have to do this._ The words give him cold comfort as the car travels farther and farther from David. 

Ray’s voice snaps him out of his reverie. “Have you given any more thought to our conversation about closet organization, Patrick?”

“I have not.”

“Too bad, a well-organized closet reflects a well-organized mind.” With that, Ray launches into a detailed description of the many configurations of closet organizers. Patrick tunes him out, thinking about what he’s going to say to Rachel. Oh god, he’s going to have to talk to his parents. He’s going to have to tell them about Rachel and they’ll ask why and then he’ll have to tell them about David. He’ll have to tell them he’s gay. The fear bubbles up inside him, he clenches his teeth to force it back.

Time seems to exist on that knife edge of moving both too slowly and too quickly as though he’s hurtling towards his parents and Rachel at twice the speed he’s leaving David behind. They arrive at the city limits before he’s ready, but he gives Ray his parents’ address, doing his best to ignore his growing anxiety.

On the sidewalk outside the cream-colored rancher with the blue trim, he pauses, bag at his feet, grasping for the courage that’s eluded him his entire life. What if they...biting his lip, he pushes the thought away. _They love me. I know they love me._ Taking a deep breath, he picks up his bag and rings the doorbell of the house he grew up in.

“Patrick? Honey, what are you doing here?” His mom envelopes him in a tight hug. He relaxes into it, not realizing how much he’d missed her until this moment. “You’re not on the run from the Rose family are you? Do I need to find a cutthroat lawyer?” His mom looks like she would relish the idea.

“No, no. Nothing like that. Is dad home?” Nerves settle like a lead weight in his stomach.

“He’s watching the game.” His mom holds the door open and he follows her into the living room. His dad is watching the Jays game on TV.

“Patrick!” With a broad smile, his dad jumps up and pulls him into a firm hug. “You’re just in time to watch the Jays lose five in a row.”

“Good to know I have missed anything important this season.” He hasn’t watched a game since he’s been at Rose Manor. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I…” This is harder than he feared it would be. He twists his hands together. “There’s some things— I need—” He breaks off, unable to complete the sentence. “I need to talk to you both.”

His dad turns off the TV and sits on the edge of the sofa, his mom comes to sit beside him, a worried look on his face. He stands in front of them; it feels like the day he’d gotten a C on his math test, the failure to meet his parents’ expectations makes him stagger. He covers it up and sinks into the nearest chair. 

“Uh…” The words desert him again and he curses himself. He just needs to get the words out. 

His mom interjects before he can continue. “Honey, what is it? If it’s the contract, we’ll find a way out of it.” There’s a competitive glint in his mom’s eye that makes him smile, just a little. 

The familiar, warm feeling makes him relax just enough to get the words out. “No, uh, it’s about David. David Rose.”

“You’re not in some kind of trouble?” His dad’s words are more measured than his mom’s but he can hear the love in them.

He feels like he’s in more trouble than he can articulate, but probably not the kind his dad means. “No, I’m— We’re— Being away made me realize some things. About myself.“ He’s not sure how to continue, how to describe David. Boyfriend seems too soon, lover seems like way too much. “David and I— I’m gay.” He drops his eyes to his clasped hands as he blurts out the words, hoping they land in a way that’s better than they sound to his own ears. 

There’s a long moment of silence. He dares a look at his mom, his stomach dropping at the tears in her eyes. “Oh, honey.” His mom rises from the edge of the couch and pulls him out of his chair so she can wrap her arms around him. “You know we love you no matter what?”

The tension that’s been wound inside him unwinds, slowly at first but then faster and faster, like a flywheel picking up speed. He wraps himself in his mom’s arms, letting her stroke his back like she used to do when he was little. His dad hasn’t said anything. The tension resets, slowly rewinding as a jolt of worry runs through him and he looks over his mom’s shoulder to meet his dad’s eyes. “It’s okay, son.” 

“Have you told Rachel?” He shakes his head against his mom’s shoulder. “Not yet. I will.”

“Why don’t you stay here tonight and talk to her in the morning?” He shouldn’t put off his conversation with Rachel but he gives into the relief and he nods in agreement.

Sensing his need for a distraction, his mom and dad fill the rest of the afternoon with chatter about work (when to roll out their expansion plan) and his cousin Jimmy (lost his job _again_ ) and the Blue Jays pitching (terrible, as always). He’s grateful to them both for not pushing and not asking questions.

He makes his excuses after dinner. His mom squeezes his arm sympathetically as he flees to his room, tossing himself down on the worn, blue comforter. His high school baseball trophies glint down at him from the shelf about his student desk as he pulls out his phone to call David.

The call rings and rings and he thinks it’s going to go to voicemail before David finally picks up. “Hi.”

“Hi.” A lump forms in his throat at the sound of David’s voice. He lets the silence build, relishing the connection, even though it’s small and tenuous.

“Did you make it okay?” There are other bigger questions in David’s voice, but he starts with the easy one.

“Other than being bombarded with Ray’s closet organization ideas for four hours, it was fine.” Patrick kicks off his shoes and scoots up higher on the bed as David laughs softly.

“A well-organized closet is a sign of--”

“...a well-organized mind. Yeah, got it.” He grins and settles back onto the pillows. “I had no idea that you and Ray were so closely aligned in your aesthetic.” David huffs at him and the silence grows again for a moment, soft and deep. “I told my parents.”

“And?” David sounds cautious, Patrick can picture him twisting his rings as they talk.

“And it was fine. Better than I expected.” Saying it out loud makes some of the anxiety ease from his shoulders. “I think they’re curious. About you.” He leaves the words there for David to pick up if he wants to.

“And, um, what about Rachel?” The warm feeling he has evaporates. 

“Not yet. Tomorrow.” The silence isn’t as warm this time and he can feel David’s tension. “I’ll call you. After.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Patrick.”

He wants to say something more, but it’s too soon, too far, too much. “Goodnight David.”

Patrick opens his eyes, blinking to bring the room into focus. He fumbles for his phone, it’s just after six o’clock. In the kitchen, he can hear the sounds of his dad making coffee. The images from his dream are fading, becoming fuzzy and indistinct, but a sense of disquiet lingers. He wishes he could talk to David, but it’s too early. He settles for a quick text.

**Patrick:** ~~I wish you were here~~

That’s not quite right. He erases it before he can press send.

**Patrick:** I wish I was there

Lying in bed, his thoughts shift from David to Rachel, the tension inside him rising at the mere thought of her name. He remembers the look on her face when he’d left three months ago and his assurances that being apart would make their relationship stronger. 

Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe he’s just been caught up in the isolation and novelty of being with David. Throwing away everything he’s built with Rachel feels like the height of irresponsibility and self-indulgence. He remembers David’s words as they’d been curled up together in the middle of his king-sized bed. _It’s not selfish to be who you are._ He takes a deep breath. He can do this. The self-indulgent thing would be to let Rachel believe that he’s someone that he’s not. 

It’s only that he doesn’t want to have a hard conversation. He’s spent most of his life searching for the easy path, finding a track that avoids the rocks instead of climbing over them. “Some things are supposed to be hard.” He whispers the words out loud but they don’t make him feel any better about the day to come. 

He can hear the rattle of dishes and the low murmur of conversation as his parents get ready for the day. He can’t put it off much longer, he has to get out of bed and go see Rachel.

After a quick shower, he joins his parents in the kitchen. 

“Morning, son.” His dad looks up from his tablet, Patrick can see the morning headlines open on his screen.

“Hi, honey.” His mom engulfs him in a warm hug. He wants to tell her she doesn’t need to worry, that he’s okay, but the hug settles the butterflies in his stomach.

“Maybe after, uh, maybe tonight we could go to the game?” His dad sets down his tablet. “We can watch the Jays lose to the Tigers.”

He remembers telling David about spending time with his dad at the ballpark. It’s comforting, like having Kraft Dinner for lunch or pulling on his favorite hoodie. “Thanks, Dad, I’d like that.” 

His dad gives him a gentle smile and gets up to put his dishes in the dishwasher. He claps Patrick on the shoulder and gives Marcy a kiss on the cheek. “See you tonight, then.” 

He puts the toast in the toaster and pours a cup of coffee while he waits for it to pop. Rachel is probably sitting at their kitchen table, drinking her own coffee the same way she has nearly every morning for the past ten years. She’ll be winding her hair around one finger as she checks her phone, her leg bent up to her chin, making her look even smaller than she is. He’ll never get to see that again, he realizes. He’ll never get to sit and talk with her over breakfast. She’ll never make him laugh about something she’s read on Twitter or the cat videos that her mom insists on sending by email.

“It will be okay.” His mom’s voice startles him out of his thoughts. “Maybe not today, but eventually.”

“Yeah.” He looks down at the toaster, wishing the toast was ready so he’d have something to do with his hands. 

“I’m proud of you, honey.” He turns to look at her, surprised. He knows his parents love him, but it’s a quiet, unassuming thing, not prone to large gestures or declarations. “This can’t be easy.”

He swallows the lump in his throat. “Thanks.” His toast pops in the toaster, making them both jump and laugh more loudly than the situation warrants. 

His parents’ house is only fifteen minutes from his and Rachel’s apartment. He sits in the car for a minute, hands clenched together before he convinces himself to turn the key and start the car. Every block feels like he’s headed to his execution. Pulling up in front of the three-story white brick building, he sits in the car, resting his head against the steering wheel. 

He can do this. He can be brave and tell Rachel that it’s over, that he’s met someone else. No, that’s the wrong way to do this. He’ll tell her he’s gay and that he’s sorry about the past ten years, that he didn’t mean to waste her time and he wishes he’d known sooner, he hopes they can be friends. They can’t be friends. How could that even be possible? Okay. He can do this. He’ll do this and then it will be over. He forces himself to open the door of the car. 

He stands in the hallway outside their apartment. Should he knock? That’s silly, he still lives here, for the next five minutes at least. He puts his key in the lock and opens the door. 

“Rach?”

“Patrick? Oh my god, what are you doing here?” He hears her quick footsteps in the hall and then she’s there, wrapping her arms around him as she laughs, happy to see him. He hadn’t considered the fact that she’d be happy. When he’d played out the scenario in his mind, she’d been focused, serious, not like this. “Are you back for good? Or just for a visit?” She presses a kiss to his lips, practically dancing in his arms. 

“Rach, listen. We need to talk.” 

She stops moving at the tone of his voice and looks at him, her eyes narrowing as she takes in his expression. He sees the moment when she figures out why he’s there and his stomach tightens. “Oh fuck, Patrick… Goddammit, I knew you going away was a bad idea.” Anger sparks in her eyes and she steps back from him, her face hardening.

“It’s not the way you think.” He backtracks at her disbelieving look. “Well, maybe it is, but it’s more than that. Can we sit for a minute?”

“I ought to make you stand here, you bastard.” But she turns and goes down the hall, not looking back to see if he’s following. In the living room, she sits on the loveseat, her back ramrod straight as she waits for him to sit on the edge of the uncomfortable armchair that her parents had given them when they’d moved into the apartment. They’d never replaced it with something better and now, he guesses, they never will. “So, what’s her name?”

Of course Rachel thinks there’s another woman. Why wouldn’t she? “It’s not—” He breaks off. “David. His name is David.”

“Fuck.” She repeats herself and he can see the shock on her face. “So all this time you were…”

“Gay. Yeah. Yes.” He swallows roughly, chewing on his lower lip. “God, Rachel, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too. Do you know how badly I want to yell at you right now? And I can’t even do that because I can’t yell at you for being gay like some kind of monster. Jesus H Christ, Patrick.”

He has to smile at the curse. She’s said it since high school, refusing to give it up no matter how badly he teased her. “I love you, Rach.” His voice cracks in the middle and he stares at the floor, tracing the patterns in their knock-off Persian rug with his eyes.

“No. You don’t get to do that. Not yet.” Her voice is steady and he glances up to meet her eyes. She blinks a couple of times, but it’s the same look she’d had the time she’d told off his Aunt Marilyn at Easter dinner, angry and determined.“ Just because I can’t yell at you doesn’t mean I’m not mad. Or sad.”

“I should go.” He’s not sure what he expects but she just nods at him from her spot on the sofa. 

“Are you going back...there?” He hears the last word stick in her throat.

“Yeah, soon.” His desire to get in his car and drive as fast as he can back to David is overwhelming, but he’d promised his dad he’d go to the game.

“When you get back, we’ll sort everything out.” She waves at the apartment. Having to think about dividing their books and the art on the wall and arguing over who gets which kitchen spatula makes him feel empty inside. 

“I’ll, uh, I’ll let you know.” She nods quietly. As he leaves the room, he looks back, she’s pulled her feet up onto the edge of the couch, her head is buried in her arms, long red hair hiding her face. He shuts the door softly behind him, the image of her stays etched in his mind the entire drive back to his parents’ house.

In the driveway, he calls David, drumming his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel as he waits for him to pick up. “Hi.”

“Hey.” He takes a deep breath, revelling in any connection with David, no matter how tenuous. “I did it. I broke up with Rachel.”

“Oh.” David sounds almost relieved. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“I said that’s what I was coming here to do.” He feels defensive that David would doubt him despite how much he’d doubted himself. After the emotional morning with Rachel, exhaustion settles over his skin like a shroud.

There’s a long silence. He can hear David breathing on the other end of the phone. “It’s easy to say that here. But once you went back to your regular life, well, I assumed you weren’t coming back.”

“David...I’m coming back.” He tries to put everything he’s feeling into the words. “I’m going to spend a couple of days with my parents and then I’m coming back.”

“You say that now…” David trails off and the silence grows again.

“Okay, well.” He’s not sure how to end the call. It’s too soon for ‘I love you’ but everything else seems too casual. “I’ll call again.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye.” David hangs up before he can respond and he’s left, holding the now-silent phone in one hand.

After the call ends, he sits for a minute, the weight of the day settling over him. He wishes he was back with David, curled up together in David’s bed, one hand tangled in his hair, the other drawing lazy patterns on his skin. A flicker of doubt burns through him. What if he’s made a mistake? He’s tearing his life apart for someone he barely knows. _You’re still gay_ a voice inside him points out. Maybe this won’t work out, but that doesn’t change the fact that he knows himself better now. 

He checks the time. They’ll need to leave for the game soon if they’re going to make it for the opening pitch. He’s barely inside the front door when his mom greets him. “How did it go?”

“It was fine.” He stops, tired of the pretense. His mom deserves better. “It was awful. But it’s okay. Or it will be.”

His mom pats him on the arm as his dad comes down the stairs, Blue Jays cap in one hand. “Ready to go?”

Thankfully, his dad doesn’t ask any questions on the drive to the game. He fills Patrick in on the Blue Jays season and they laugh about the memory of going to Patrick’s first game. There’s limited parking, so they park in a parkade a couple of blocks away and walk to the stadium. The side street is quiet, with no traffic, a few people are casually jaywalking. “When are you heading back?” He can hear the unspoken questions in his dad’s voice.

“Monday, I think.” He’s about to follow his dad across the street when he sees his shoe is untied. “Just a sec…”

With a squeal of tires, the silver BMW comes out of nowhere. With a sickening thud, he watches his dad fly sideways, his limp form hitting the pavement with a thud he’ll remember for the rest of his life.


	9. Chapter 9

It’s been two weeks. 

His dad hasn’t woken up since the accident. The police have done their best, but no one saw the car clearly and they don’t seem to have any leads. Every moment has been spent in a state of paralysis at the hospital, fitfully failing to sleep at his parents’ place or shuttling back and forth. Patrick and his mom take shifts, neither of them wanting to leave his dad alone in case he wakes up. He’s never been more exhausted. 

He can feel it behind his eyes, a low, unceasing ache that never goes away, not even after he wakes from a broken sleep in the morning. His mom had gone home an hour ago. As usual, he’s had to practically push her out the door, assuring her that he’ll call as soon as there’s any change. 

He’s never been so scared. It feels like the time when he was really little and he’d gotten separated from his dad at the county fair. The crush of people and the lights had engulfed and overwhelmed him, leaving him alone with no way to find his dad again. This is what that feels like, as though everything has been taken away from him and all he can do is sit amidst the maelstrom, waiting for relief. 

He knows the hospital now, the once-foreign institutional hallways have slowly become familiar. He knows which vending machine has the best chocolate bars and which nurses are the friendliest. All the chairs are the same, though. Each one is as uncomfortable as the last, clad in durable grey fabric that disguises a rigid, metal frame. These are chairs that were designed by people who had clearly never once sat in them. Or, if they had, they didn’t care. He shifts again, trying to find a comfortable position as he prepares for a day exactly like the day before, filled with dread and monotony. 

Rachel has been here too. As soon as she’d heard, she’d arrived at the hospital, an uncertain, but determined look on her face. It’s been nice, having her here. The first few days had been prickly, full of false starts and broken conversations but slowly they’ve salvaged some of the best parts of their relationship.

She’s here now, sitting beside him in one of the uncomfortable chairs, both of them silent as they listen to the beeps and hums of the equipment that’s keeping his dad alive. He can’t cry anymore. As the days have dragged on, his grief has been replaced by an indistinct numbness, as though he’s suspended in time. 

“What’s he like?” Soft as it is, Rachel’s voice still startles him. 

“I’m sorry?” Exhausted and lost in thought, he’s not sure who she’s talking about for a second.

Rachel vagues her hand in the air, hesitating before she says the name. “David. What’s he like?”

He sifts through a dictionary full of adjectives, trying to find the ones that fit and the ones that won’t sound like he’s comparing David to Rachel. “Challenging.” Rachel raises her eyebrows, a curious look on her face. “Demanding. Generous. Caring.”

“Hmm.” Rachel hums at him and he can tell she’s choosing her words as carefully as he is. “I’m glad.” It’s not what he’s expecting and he raises an eyebrow at her. “I think you need that. Someone to challenge you.”

They lapse back into silence and he thinks about what she’s said. This might be the most thoughtful conversation they’ve had in years and he knows she’s right. Being challenged by David is part of what he finds so attractive. He chews on his lip, a tendril of worry untangling itself inside him. He’d phoned David as soon as he could after the accident, babbling and crying incoherently. David had told him to take all the time he needed, but Patrick had felt something beneath his words that he couldn’t identify. Since then, each time they talked, David had pointedly redirected the conversation to focus on his dad’s condition and away from questions about when Patrick would return. 

He misses David. It feels like every fibre of his being is being pulled apart, torn between his duty to stay here and his desire to run back to him. He wishes his dad would wake up. If he would just wake up, then he could go back to David. It’s beyond selfish to think this way. A wash of guilt floods through him, pooling in his belly. Beside him, Rachel shifts in the chair, trying to get comfortable.

He smiles at her regretfully. “You know it was never about you, right?” He does regret it. He regrets that he had to hurt her, that the perfect relationship that he’d built up in his mind wasn’t built on a real foundation. “You were my best friend and I—” His voice cracks and he breaks off. 

“Am.” Rachel nudges him with her elbow, the way she used to do when they were in math class together and she knew he wasn’t paying attention.

“What?” He’s so tired, his brain is three steps behind the conversation.

“I am your best friend, you idiot.” He’s going to cry again. He looks away and blinks to hold back the tears. Rachel gives him a small, sympathetic smile and wraps her arms around her bent knees. “I just want you to be happy. Do you think that will be possible after all this over?” She waves at the grey hospital room. 

He tips his head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling tiles. “Rach. For the first time, I’m not worried that there’s something wrong with me. It feels right. God, I don’t even know how to explain it. It feels like a weight’s been lifted off my shoulders.” Even with everything that’s happened in the past two weeks, he’s never felt freer. 

“I wish I could have given you that.” Rachel lays her head on his shoulder and it feels like the summation of every good moment they’d had together, the summer barbeques, ice-skating on his grandparents’ pond, going to the movies together and sharing popcorn. 

“Me too.” He holds out his hand and she tucks her smaller one into his and they sit like that, watching his dad breathing much too shallowly in the bed in front of them. 

He’s navigating the corridors of the hospital the next morning when his phone buzzes with a text from a strange number. 

**Rose Manor:** Button, you need to come back, like, now.  
**Rose Manor:** This is Alexis

Fear runs through him, fast and electric. David. He sinks into a chair outside the nurse’s station by his dad’s room. 

**Patrick:** What’s going on?  
**Rose Manor:** Tomorrow is David’s birthday  
**Rose Manor:** And Sebastien is here  
**Rose Manor:** You have to come back. We didn’t alter the terms of the contract for nothing  
**Patrick:** What? What does that mean? And who’s we?

He waits for Alexis to answer but there’s nothing.

 **Patrick:** Alexis?

Finally, he sees the dots appear below his message.

 **Rose Manor:** Fine. Stevie and I altered the investment contract so that you would come here. We didn’t know what else to do, we couldn’t let David marry Sebastien. But now he’s here!

A hundred questions fly through his mind. How did they possibly think that would work? What would they have done if his mom had come instead of him? Except it has worked, and now David is in trouble and Patrick isn’t there.

Fuck. He puts his head in his hands. He can’t leave yet, not with his dad still unconscious. His mom needs him. But if he doesn’t go, David will think he’s turned his back on him. And if it’s his birthday and he’s out of time. For a second, he curses David for not telling him sooner. But of course he hadn’t; he wouldn’t want to make Patrick think he was responsible for fixing his problems. This must be bad if the house is texting him. Maybe he can just go for a day or two—

“Patrick!” His mom hurries up to him, the first smile he’s seen for weeks lighting up her face. “He’s awake!” Relief cascades through him, and David’s problems momentarily take second place to his dad’s condition. He hugs her tightly before following her into his dad’s room. His dad smiles blurrily at the two of them as the doctor checks his chart. 

“We’re very glad to see you awake, Mr Brewer.” The doctor looks at the chart again and checks the readings on the machines near the bed. “All your readings look good, but we’ll want to do an MRI in the next day or so, just to be sure.” The doctor looks over at his mom. “If everything looks good, he’ll be able to go home in a couple of days.”

Patrick squeezes his mom’s hand and smiles as she hugs his dad gingerly, laughing and then looking away as his dad embraces her tightly. His dad’s eyes are already drooping, his mom looks worriedly at the doctor as they slide closed. 

“That's perfectly normal, he’ll sleep a lot the next few days.” The doctor replaces the chart at the foot of the bed and, giving his mom a final nod, she lets herself out of the room.

His mom lets out a quiet sigh and wipes away a tear. “Mom, I...I need to go. I just had a message that David might be in trouble.” He feels like he’s failing his parents again. He should be here until his dad is out of the hospital, but his need to see David burns too brightly.

“Honey—” A pained, sympathetic look crosses his mom’s face. “Of course you should go, your dad’s going to be fine.”

“What about you? Will you be okay?” He has to ask, but what if she says no? What if this choice gets even harder than it already is?

“I’ll be fine.” At his doubtful look, she smiles as she reaches to squeeze his hand. “I promise. If David needs you, then you should go.”

“Okay. I love you. And dad.” He hugs her tightly. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.” As soon as she lets him go, he’s out the door, running down the hallway, his phone in one hand as he texts Alexis to tell her that he’s on his way. 

Without Ray to distract him, the drive feels ten times longer than before. He drives over the speed limit the entire way, past the world’s largest rocking horse, past Santa’s Village, past the vaguely obscene sign for Schitt’s Creek. He takes the curves of the wooded driveway as quickly as he dares, coming to a stop in front of the stone staircase with a rumble of gravel. A silver BMW is parked in the drive. Patrick eyes it carefully, the squeal of tires and the thud of his dad’s body striking the pavement ringing in his ears. Getting out, he circles the other car, a fresh dent is visible in the front passenger side fender, marking the spot it had struck his father two weeks earlier.

There’s only one person it could belong to. Rage rises inside him and he takes the stairs two at a time, the front door swings open as he gets to the top. He pats the stone pillar on the inside of the door. The lights come up as he strides inside. “David? David?” His voice rings through the empty entryway. “Stevie? Alexis? Where’s David?”

“Welcome back, Patrick.” Alexis’s voice is sombre. “David is in his suite.”

He takes the stairs at a run, stopping at the top when he sees the figure leaning against the wall, his arms crossed above his tattered sweater, a sardonic smirk on his lips. A blue and white birthday cake sits on the hall table beside him. 

“You son of a bitch.” White hot rage narrows his vision. All his life, he’s prided himself on being in control, of being the kind of person who smooths things over, who overlooks other people’s mistakes with a shrug and a grimace but all he can feel is the desire to ruin the man in front of him, for his dad, for David.

“Patrick.” Sebastien tilts his head back. “So good of you to join us. I was afraid you might miss this little celebration that I’ve arranged for David’s birthday...and our impending engagement.”

“I can’t believe you came back here.” Grabbing Sebastien by the sweater, he pulls him away from the wall, pushing him backwards towards the stairs. He feels Sebastien tense as he gets closer to the edge.

Sebastien sneers. “Of course I came back. I’ve been working towards this moment for five years before you came along and nearly derailed it. Fortunately, I’ve got things back on track now.”

Patrick narrows his eyes at him. “Do you? It seems like you’re standing out in the hallway with a sad-looking birthday cake.”

Fury etches Sebastien’s face. “I won’t let you ruin this for me.” He pushes forward, catching Patrick off-guard. He steps back, away from the edge of the stairs. Sebastien’s hands are balled into fists, his larger frame towers over Patrick. He feels Sebastien move before he sees it, ducking as Sebastien takes a swing at him, tangling his left foot between Sebastien’s and sending him sprawling ungracefully to the floor. Before Sebastien can struggle to his feet, he’s on him, kneeling on the small of his back, tugging his arm up between his shoulder blades. Sebastien squirms in the hold, going still as Patrick tightens the grip on his wrist. The urge to punish Sebastien for everything he’s done is overwhelming. He fights it back, refusing to lower himself to Sebastien’s level.

“You need to leave.” Sebastien tries to sneer at him and Patrick pulls his arm even higher until Sebastien gasps with pain. “And you might want to leave the country, before I send the license plate of your car into the police.” 

“You don’t have any proof.” Sebastien’s voice is whiny and petulant. 

“The dent on your car says otherwise.” Cautiously, he lets Sebastien get to his feet, ready to tackle him again. “Get out.”

Sebastien’s eyes flick down the hallway behind him and Patrick can tell he’s thinking about trying to push past him. Then, with a final sneer he turns towards the stairs. “I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.” Moments later, Patrick hears the front door slam closed behind him.

He pounds on the door to David’s studio. “David, it’s me, Patrick. Let me in.” There’s no response. “David?” Closing his eyes, he rests his forehead against the wood of the door. “Let me in, David.” Empty silence greets his pleas. “Stevie, Alexis? Can you…? Please?” There’s no response from the AIs either. “Please?” He’s begging, putting all of his desperation into the single word. The silence stretches on and on until he’s about to give up when finally the lights flicker and there’s the quiet sound of the door being unlocked. 

“You better make this count, Patrick.” Stevie’s voice is barely a murmur.

He presses a hand to the door frame. “Thank you.” Before Stevie can change her mind, he pushes open the door to the studio.

David is sitting on a black leather sofa at the far end of the room. Dressed in black, he looks like he’s ready for a photoshoot. A folded sheaf of papers sits on the couch beside him. He doesn’t smile when his eyes meet Patrick’s. 

“I found it.” David’s voice is soft, empty. He picks up the papers and hands them to Patrick. He unfolds the papers. **The Last Will and Testament of Jacob Rose**

“And?” He sits cautiously at the far end of the couch. He desperately wants to take David into his arms, but instinct tells him to leave space between them, that David won’t welcome his touch right now. 

“And it’s exactly the fucking same. All of this,” David waves his hands at the studio space. “Was a waste.” David tips his head back against the back of the couch. “Is Sebastien gone?”

“Yeah.” The word hangs in the air. 

“So that’s it, then.” David rolls his head sideways on the couch, his eyes are wet. 

The first flicker of an idea ignites inside him. He stands up and holds out his hand to David. “Have a birthday dinner with me.” David shakes his head. “C’mon, I insist.” 

David bites his lips together and puts his hand in Patrick’s. He pulls him to his feet, wrapping his arms around David’s waist. David stands completely still in his arms before draping his arms around his neck and burrowing his face in his shoulder. “I didn’t think you were coming back.” The words are muffled and indistinct.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He holds back the information that Sebastien was the one who had run down his dad with his car. “My dad woke up this morning, so I came straight here.”

“Are you sure it’s okay that you’re here?” David lifts his head from Patrick’s shoulder. 

“I’m sure.” He cups David’s cheek with his hand. David sighs as he leans into his touch and Patrick leans forward to kiss him, with a featherweight brush of his lips against David’s. “C’mon, let’s have dinner.”

In the kitchen, he opens the freezer door and pulls out the frozen mozzarella sticks and the lasagna. As he turns on the oven, David shakes his head. “I can make some real food.” Opening the fridge, he pulls out an assortment of ingredients, chicken and herbs and spinach for a salad. “Put some water on for pasta.” David gestures to the pots hanging above the island. 

“Wait, you can cook?” He puts the frozen food back in the freezer and fills a pot with water. 

“Of course I can cook. How do you think I’ve survived here for five years?” David smiles at him, a quirk of his mouth that seems to twist up the side of his face. Patrick would give anything to put that smile back on David’s face again.

“So you’ve just been trolling me with the mozzarella sticks and lasagna?”

“I like lasagna.” David shrugs as he puts a pinch of salt into the water. “And I didn’t want to make things too easy for you.”

“I see.” David slides the spinach and some mushrooms over to him and hands him a salad bowl and a knife. “All your attempts to drive me away definitely didn’t make things easy.”

“I didn’t want you to think we were going to be friends.” David grins at him, his mouth twisting sideways. Patrick puts down the knife and moves so he has David trapped in the corner of the counter, his hands gripping the edge on either side of his body.

“How about now?” His voice is low and rough as he leans close to David. “Do you want us to be friends now?”

David hums at him, amusement flashing in his eyes, followed by a low, dark heat that runs straight down Patrick’s spine and pools in his stomach. “Not friends, exactly, no.”

He can’t help but kiss David then, a slow and lazy kiss that slowly turns more heated until David’s hand is at the back of his neck, tilting his head to just the right angle as he licks insistently at Patrick’s lips, forcing his way inside as Patrick opens to him. On the stove behind them, the water is boiling, splashes of water making small sizzling noises as they land on the burner. With a low laugh, David pushes him away and adds a handful of pasta to the roiling water. 

They sit at the kitchen table to eat; the sun is low over the garden. The pasta is delicious, a delicate white wine sauce pairs perfectly with the citrus dressing on the salad. 

“So what happens now?” The idea that’s been teasing at him since he arrived sits at the back of his tongue, tantalizing and urgent, but he needs to know what David’s plans are.

David shrugs, looking down at his plate. “I’ll talk to my family in the morning, there’s a contingency plan to move everything into a trust on an interim basis.” David sets his fork down on the edge of his plate. “And then my mom will probably hide in her closet for a week and my sister will run off with her trashy shipping magnate boyfriend and they’ll blame me.” David’s tone is light, but Patrick can hear the fear and resignation beneath his words.

“Okay, what if…” He stops, wanting what he says to be perfect, knowing that under the circumstances, it never can be. “What if we got engaged?”


	10. Chapter 10

“You can’t be serious.” David pushes his plate away, half-eaten. “This isn’t something we can just undo if we don’t like it.”

“I know. I know that.” He sets down his fork and looks intently at David. The dark eyes meet his; and he marvels that he’d been able to tear himself away from them long enough to leave. “You— God, David, do you know how you’ve changed my life? How you’ve changed me?”

David pushes back his chair and stands, his long fingers twisting at his rings. “Look, I get that you’re having some sort of awakening right now, but in six months or two weeks when you start to have regrets, then we’ll be in an even worse place that we are now.”

All of his thoughts from the past 24 hours coalesce in his mind. “Just hear me out, okay? The will just says you have to get engaged, right? It doesn’t say you have to get married right away or ever, even. Look at Oprah, she’s been engaged for 30 years.” It’s not the most romantic argument for getting married, but he suspects the heartbeat of ‘I love you, I love you’ that’s beating inside him will only push David away.

“28 years, actually.” David still looks skeptical, but Patrick thinks he might be softening. “But that doesn’t solve the problem of what happens once you get tired of me. And everyone gets tired of me eventually.”

“I’m not everyone.” He pushes his chair back and comes around the table to stand in front of David. “And you’re out of options. If nothing else, let me buy you a bit more time?” It might be the most impulsive thing he’s ever done. But it feels right. He knows David needs more time, but if David’s grandfather’s will had required it, he would have married David by the end of the day without regret. 

David’s face contorts, uncertainty, anxiety, hope flash across his features and he sees David come to a decision. “Okay.”

“Okay.” He sinks down, the tiles of the kitchen floor are hard against his bent knee. “David Rose, will you marry me?”

“You’re an idiot, get up.” David tugs at his shoulder, unable to hide the grin on his face.

“Not until you say yes.” He’s deliberately being ridiculous, but it feels perfect. He laughs up at David, refusing to move until he gets the answer he’s looking for.

David rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “Yes, yes, I’ll marry you. Get off the floor.”

He wraps David in a tight hug, whispering in his ear, “I won’t have regrets, you know.” David doesn’t respond, but Patrick feels him nod against his shoulder. He’s not sure how long they stand like that. David’s sweater is soft beneath his fingers, his hair tickles the top of Patrick’s ear, but he doesn’t want to let David go. 

Finally, David releases him, his hands sliding slowly down Patrick’s back. He can feel his skin prickle at the touch and when he looks at David, his eyes are hot and intense. “Do you suppose having sex with your fiance is different than…” David trails off, trying to name what their relationship had been before.

“Having sex with your houseguest?” He kisses David softly, letting his lips linger. “Indentured contractor?” He nuzzles his way to David’s ear, teeth tugging softly on his earlobe. “Unpaid librarian?”

“Upstairs, now.” David’s voice is low and gravelly. He pushes Patrick out of the kitchen, grabbing his hand on the stairs and squeezing tightly as they climb together. 

In David’s bedroom, he slips his arms around David’s neck. It makes him feel like a teenager again, like the teenager he wishes he’d been, making out with a cute boy, hoping no one will find out. David kisses him like they have all the time in the world. They trade kisses back and forth, David’s eyes are glued to his. His eyes slip closed as the kisses get messier, David’s mouth searching against his.

He could kiss David all night. Nothing but lips brushing, tongues chasing. He pulls David closer, losing himself in the moment. Without warning, David slips his hands beneath Patrick’s sweater. He yelps at the icy sensation, trying to wiggle away but David has him pinned. His eyes fly open, David is smirking at him, his freezing cold hands stroking Patrick’s sides.

“Hi.”

“Don’t you ‘hi’ me.” He tries to glare but his mouth betrays him, quirking up in response to David’s grin. “I think you might be forgetting something.”

“What’s that?” David is relaxed on top of him, Patrick can tell he thinks he has the upper hand.

“I’m stronger than you.” Before David can respond, he flips them over, seizing David’s cold hands and holding them above his head.

“How do you know this wasn’t my plan?” David’s eyes are dark and he’s panting slightly. 

“Mmm.” He gives David a sloppy kiss, letting it grow heated as David arches into it. He can feel David’s cock against his leg. He rolls his hips and David lets out a ragged moan into his mouth. He wants to take David apart but they’re both still fully clothed. He knows the minute he lets go of David’s hands, his now-fiance will retaliate. He looks at David and he can tell that David is waiting for his opportunity to pounce. 

“What are you waiting for?” David teases him, his voice mocking. He sits up as quickly as he can, shucking off his sweater and tossing it onto the couch behind him. 

As he expected, as soon as he lets him go, David’s fingers find the soft spot at the top of his hip. It tickles and he squirms away, accidentally grinding against David, making them both gasp. David’s hands grab his ass, pulling him down as David thrusts up into him. 

He leans down to kiss David, nuzzling at his ear. “I have a complaint.”

“Oh?” While he’s distracted, David bucks his hips, trying to dislodge him. Patrick settles his weight more firmly over his thighs, holding him down.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” He nips at David’s earlobe, making his breath hiss.

“Oh, well, that’s your fault.” David’s voice is a little breathy, but he still sasses Patrick. “How can I take them off when you’re got me pinned like this?”

He rolls his eyes, but he sits up again so he can tug off David’s sweater. David runs his hands up Patrick’s thighs. Patrick inhales sharply, expecting David’s hands on his cock, but he just strokes his hands back and forth, up and down his thighs. His hands tighten on David’s shoulders as his hands move in a steady rhythm. His cock is pressing uncomfortably against his tight pants. David smirks at him, keeping the same movement.

He runs a finger down the center of David’s chest, David’s eyes drift half closed as he watches the movement of Patrick’s hand. David licks his lips and Patrick’s breath catches. He wants to lose himself in David, to dive down into him until he’s surrounded and breathless from the lack of oxygen. But before he does that, he needs revenge for David’s icy cold hands. He runs his fingernails up David’s sides, where he knows he’s the most ticklish. David writhes, squirming delightfully beneath him, making them both gasp. Before David can recover from the tickling, he presses his finger to David’s nipple, David’s hips buck into his and his hands clutch at Patrick’s thighs. 

A smirk flits across David’s face. “Are you going to tease me all night?”

“Wouldn’t you like it if I did?” His words elicit a low whine from deep in David’s throat. Despite his words, David is more turned on than he’s letting on. He’s not sure he has the patience to take David apart tonight. He leans down and gives him a hard kiss, nipping his lower lip as he pulls away. “I can’t do anything while you have your pants on.”

He rolls sideways, undoing his own pants and kicking them away along with his socks and underwear to join David’s in a pile on the floor. David scoots up the bed, dislodging several of the throw cushions as he goes. Patrick watches him for a moment, his eyes slipping down David’s body, catching on the wetness of his lips, the shape of his hand resting casually on his hip, the fullness of his erect cock. 

He could look at him all night. Unthinkingly, his hand drifts to his dick, stroking softly at the sight of David laid out in front of him. David’s eyes are dark. “Get over here.” His voice is thick and low, it sends goosebumps down Patrick’s spine. He stretches out beside David, nuzzling along his hairline until he can whisper in his ear. “You look so good, baby. What do you want?”

David tilts his head back, exposing his throat. Patrick can’t help but run his lips down the column of his neck, stopping to press a sloppy kiss at the base of his throat. His cock is pushing into David’s hip, making him twitch every time David moves. David’s hands grasp his face, pulling him into a kiss. “I want your mouth.” He licks the words into Patrick’s lips, making him shudder. 

“God, yes.” He kisses his way down David’s chest, stopping to run his tongue around the peak of David’s left nipple, licking until he hears David’s breath catch. He sucks a mark into the crease of David’s hip before nuzzling at the base of his cock. David gasps as his nose brushes his balls, his hips jerking upwards. Resting an arm across David’s hips, he holds him in place, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of his cock. 

David’s hands tangle in his hair, pulling at him. He looks up, his fiance’s eyes are dark and wide. “Patrick…”

“Did you want something?” David’s fingers clench in his hair and he groans in frustration. 

“Suck my cock, Patrick.” David’s voice, already thick with need, somehow gets even deeper, until it’s almost a growl. “Now.”

Part of him wants to tease David all night until he’s swearing with frustration and writhing from pure need. But he can’t wait that long. He takes David into his mouth, taking him deep until he feels his cock at the back of his throat. David’s hips twitch upwards, the sudden movement makes him gag for a second before he relaxes his throat and takes him even deeper. 

David moans, deep in his chest as Patrick applies himself to getting the biggest reaction he can from him. His own cock is throbbing, twitching with every moan and gasp David makes. David’s fingers are flexing in his hair, his breath is coming faster and faster. With a muffled shout, David’s hips thrust upwards and he’s coming into Patrick’s mouth, his hands tight on the back of Patrick’s head. 

Patrick pulls off him with a soft pop. David’s hands are petting the short hair at the back of his neck, when Patrick looks up, his eyes are glassy. His own erection is almost painful, he wraps a hand around himself only to see David shaking his head.

“That’s mine. Don’t make me come over there.”

“What if I want you to come over here?” He smirks and sits back on his heels between David’s legs, giving a slow deliberate pull on his cock, his eyes glued to David’s. 

Somehow, David transforms from sated and fucked out to fully alert, a wicked gleam in his eye. He sits up, his legs bracketing Patrick’s bent knees. David places a hand at the back of his neck, pulling him into a messy kiss that’s made of teeth and tongue. The slight tug at the back of his neck unbalances him and he falls onto David, pushing them both down on the bed in a pile of uncoordinated limbs. Before he can sort himself out, David ends up beneath him, his hands gripping Patrick’s hips as Patrick looks down on him. 

Satisfied that Patrick’s not going to fall on top of him, David wraps his hands around Patrick’s cock, making him moan as his eyes flutter closed. David gives his cock a couple of firm strokes before tugging at his hips. “Fuck my mouth.”

Patrick lets out a sound that’s part whimper, part growl as he thrusts forward, stopping as the head of his cock touches David’s lips. David grins at him, the tip of his tongue gently caressing the head of Patrick’s cock before he opens his mouth and lets Patrick inside. He controls his thrusts, giving David time to adjust. David tugs at his hips encouraging him forward and he loses himself in the rhythm, slowly at first and then faster as David’s fingers dig into the flesh of his hips. David’s eyes are drifting closed, his pupils are wide as he looks at Patrick through his lashes. Seeing him beneath him, loose and fucked out, the feel of his mouth hot on Patrick’s cock pushes him over the edge and with a muffled shout he comes down David’s throat. 

He pulls out of David’s mouth, bracing himself on the headboard, his body loose and uncooperative. David is panting, his eyes closed as Patrick topples onto the bed beside him. David throws a leg over his, pinning him in place as he cuddles into his side, his hand running over Patrick’s chest.

“Regrets?” David’s hand teases across his chest and Patrick gives a low laugh.

“Maybe ask me in a couple of days?” At David’s protest, Patrick presses a kiss to his hairline and cuddles closer, encouraging David to wrap himself around him. “No, no. No regrets.” 

He’s drifting to sleep when he feels David run a soft hand down the line of his back. “Me neither. No regrets.”

_...they spin in soft circles, safe and warm..._   
_...David laughs, throwing his head back as the music rises around them..._   
_...Patrick laughs with him as the music changes, morphing from Mariah Carey to hungry, hungry hippos..._   
_...David laughs even harder as Patrick sings, the crowd clapping along..._

***

The garden is filled with people. Patrick stands beneath the cherry tree where he and David had kissed for the first time and watches his fiance work his way through the crowd. The word rolls off his tongue more easily now, but it still sends a flutter through him, a feeling he hopes he never loses.

Patio lights stretch across the garden, connecting the house and the greenhouse and the trees that accent the corners of formal design. The warm lights make the garden glow in the encroaching twilight, it feels small and intimate. He’d never thought he’d see the day there were so many people at the house, but groups of them fill the space, drinking and talking. 

Their engagement has fulfilled the terms of David’s grandfather’s will, the team of lawyers responsible for the estate signed off on it within weeks of David’s birthday. More than that, it’s released David from his seclusion, they use the house for vacations and parties now that David has returned to the city. 

His parents are standing near the greenhouse, talking to Rachel, his mom laughs loudly at something Rachel says as she catches Patrick’s eye and grins. Their first conversation after he’d returned home had been awkward to say the least, but now that they’ve met David, he thinks they understand why he had leapt so quickly into another engagement. Their business is thriving with the investment from Rose Corp and David’s advice on their product lines has been invaluable, further cementing Patrick’s mom’s good opinion of him. 

“Hello, Button.” The familiar voice comes from somewhere behind him.

Confused, he looks around, searching for the source of the voice. “Alexis? I thought you and Stevie couldn’t be out here—” He breaks off as an unfamiliar blonde woman approaches, holding her hand out to him at an elegant angle. She’s as beautiful as David, in her own way, with a flirtatiousness that once upon a time he would have convinced himself he found attractive.

“I am Alexis, David’s sister.” She points to the A-shaped necklace around her neck.

“Uh...hi?” Her voice is nearly identical to the one he has grown accustomed to, but it’s warm in a way that the AI’s voice could never manage.

“Have you met Stevie?” Alexis steps aside to reveal a tiny, dark-haired woman. Stevie smirks at him knowingly.

“Uh…how…?” He stares at them in confusion for a second before starting again. “Have you been here the whole time? Were you Stevie and Alexis all along?” He waves vaguely at the house, knowing his question doesn’t make sense, but hoping they get the gist of it.

“Yes.” Alexis beams at him.

“And also, no. Not always.” Stevie chimes in. “After David programmed the AIs, we learned how to hack the system so we could check on things. But we were never _here_ here.”

“But you’re the ones who brought me here.” Alexis nods as his mind races. Stevie and Alexis had altered the contract in a last-ditch, futile attempt to save David from Sebastien. It was a hail Mary basket from center court and he still can’t quite believe it worked. He thinks back to all of his conversations with the two of them, trying to identify which ones had been real and which ones had been with the AIs. Maybe it doesn’t matter, their interference brought him and David together.

“We just wanted to give you a push in the right direction.” Alexis boops his nose with her finger. “And now everything has turned out for the best.”

“Does David know?” Alexis shakes her head warningly as fingers dance across his back and long arms settle around his shoulders as David announces his presence. 

“Does David know what?” He can feel David’s breath against his ear as David draws him close.

“That Sebastien’s been arrested.” Stevie casts a cautious look at Patrick and he raises his eyebrows at her. He’ll keep their secret. For now. And he’ll be hiring someone to do a full review of their security systems.

“Good.” A ripple of tension runs through his fiance before soft lips find the spot behind Patrick’s ear and he leans back, secure in the circle of David’s arms. Being in David’s arms feels just as right as it did the first time and Patrick laces their fingers together, drawing David closer.

“Ew, David. Get a room.” Before David can respond, Alexis’s attention is captured by someone else and she taps her way across the garden, Stevie following in her wake. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that Stevie and Alexis were based on real people?” He should have realized. The AIs have far too much personality to have been created out of thin air, but meeting them in real life is a touch disorienting.

He can feel David shrug behind him. “It’s kind of pathetic, creating fake versions of your sister and your best friend to keep you company.”

“I think it’s sweet.” He turns in David’s arms, David’s face twists as he looks skyward at the compliment. “Dance with me?” He places his hands on David’s waist as David repositions his arms around his neck. They sway together, the music and the chatter of the crowd filling the outdoor space. “I’m really glad you conned me into coming here, David.” David rolls his eyes, his fingers teasing the hair at the back of Patrick’s neck. “And that you made me work in your library. Even though you were so rude to me.”

“Okay.” David looks skyward, but a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “I think that’s about enough.”

“And that you tricked me into asking you to marry me.” He pulls David closer, pressing a kiss to the spot on his neck that his lips seem to find naturally.

“I did not! If anything, you begged me.” David murmurs the words into his ear, his breath tickles.

He can’t resist one last comment. “And that you forced me to fall in love with you.”

He can hear the smile in David’s voice. “That’s not even a thing.”David grins as he lowers his head to kiss Patrick softly, his lips lingering. “But I love you too.”

...and then...

...they lived happily ever after.

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who came on this journey with me. These are strange times we’re living through. So many of you said this story has given you something to look forward to over the past 10 days and I don’t even have words to express how honored that makes me feel. We’re so lucky to have a lot of great talent in this fandom, so here are a few of my favorite AUs to help spread the love.
> 
> [The Last Rose Video](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19816090)   
>  [holy sick divine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19306867)   
>  [Bound by Symmetry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21779269)   
>  [Pot o’ Gold](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22368910)   
>  [Your Wings Prepare to Fly](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18675244)   
>  [You and Me and This Temptation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20420525)   
>  [For Feelings Unbound](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18206897)   
>  [How Do We Get Back](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019112/chapters/49991006)


End file.
